


Life in Exile

by lady_of_silver_fountains



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Azanulbizar, Blue Mountains | Ered Luin, Character Death, Dwarves, Dwarves In Exile, Erebor, Gen, No Romance, Pre-The Hobbit, Sack of Erebor, War of Dwarves and Orcs, Young Fíli, Young Fíli and Kíli, Young Kíli, Young Thorin Oakenshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 82,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_of_silver_fountains/pseuds/lady_of_silver_fountains
Summary: Encompasses Thorin's untold life before the Quest of Erebor. Includes details such as the existences and eventual deaths of Frerin and Víli (Fili and Kili's father), the disappearance and search for Thráin, Fili and Kili's upbringing with Thorin as their father figure, how Thorin came to know the members of his company prior to the Quest, and Thorin's experiences with the status of King of Durin's Folk while living a life of burden, yet hope for his kin in exile and for himself.I will be blending content from Tolkien and the Peter Jackson films to try and satisfy both fans. Therefore, there will be differences in events and how they transpired.





	1. The Sack of Erebor (TA 2770)

Although he was not of mature age, Thorin was permitted leave Erebor during daylight hours to practice hunting. Even as a younger Dwarfling, Thorin learned quite quickly how to yield a weapon, axe and sword alike. However, bows and arrows frustrated him greatly and he was adamant on attaining some level of skill, as his father, Thráin, told him that hunting could only be safe and successful with a long-range weapon, a bow and arrow.

The young Dwarf prince was known for his determination and courage, not to mention the most attractive attitude of Dwarven stubbornness. Thorin never gave up on anything or anyone, he often stepped forward in conflicts with those of his age, and he was not afraid of leaving a physical or emotional wound on someone whom he felt needed one. Despite this, Thorin was very reserved and quiet. As a prince, he was being groomed constantly to behave properly not just by his father, but particularly by his grandfather, Thrór, King Under the Mountain. Thorin was usually found with his grandfather, as he looked up to him constantly; he wanted to be just like him. Not only this, but his father could not be around Thorin as much as he wanted, because Thorin had two younger siblings that his father had to raise on his own, Frerin and Dís. His father had told him not long after his mother had passed that it was best if he stay under his grandfather’s wing in order to grow into a respectable heir to the throne. And Thrór _was_ a kind and just King towards his people, for he had made a mighty people and a mighty treasure hoard. Lately, this had changed; Thrór’s tone deepened and sharpened like a hiss, his mind was constantly set on his treasure, and he would spend hours or even days with his treasure hoard. Because of this, Thorin would be forced to be away from his grandfather without an explanation, which irritated him greatly. A mature Dwarf, Balin, who would give him runes, histories, and various crafting books to study, was ordered by Thráin to look after Thorin when he or Thrór could not. Whenever Thorin questioned Balin on why he had to be away from Thrór, Balin would sigh and his eyes would darken in sadness.

“He is not well, Master Thorin, it is best if we all give him space.”

This answer did not satisfy the young prince at all. The only outstanding thing that had transpired recently was the discovery of a strange gem, which Thorin did not get to see until it was added to the throne. When he saw it for the first time, it bewildered him; it was unlike anything he had ever seen; it was like silver in the firelight, water in the summer sun, like snow under the stars, and like rain upon the Moon. When he finally asked, still staring in awe, his grandfather replied, “That is the Arkenstone, the Heart of this Mountain, it is the King’s Jewel.” Such titles for such a precious object.

But this was before Thrór changed.

The main reason why Thorin was out of the mountain today was because Thrór had gone into a fit after a visit from the Elven King of the Woodland Realm, and both Balin and Thorin’s father deemed it not safe for Thorin to see his grandfather at all today, so he was given something else to do while they tried to calm the great King down. Balin only gave this information to Thorin in an inaudible rambling as he shooed him outside. Thorin was not overly fond of taking orders from someone else who wasn’t his father or his grandfather, so his stroll through the forests between Erebor and the City of Dale was more of an angry trudge consisting of kicking pinecones and pushing branches away violently as if he were a grown, angry Dwarf. He knew quite well that all the ruckus would scare any creature away, but at this point he no longer had the drive to hunt anything. The tranquility of the forest and the security of the large, lush, green pine trees forced him to think about his grandfather and bring up the feelings he kept suppressed within him. The young prince soon came upon a rock that pointed towards the Lonely Mountain that loomed above the great pines. If he were to stand on the rock, he may have even seen the top of the heads of the giant, stone-carven Dwarf Lords that guarded the entrance and the Western secret entrance of the Mountain (Thrór told him he would would share the knowledge of the Secret Door when he was of mature age). Instead, Thorin chose to sit on the rock in contempt, crossing his arms and setting them on his knees so that he somewhat loomed over the forest floor a foot below him. Thorin stared at his boar-fur boots, which were a gift from his relatives in the Iron Hills, just east of Erebor. Thorin always wore royal blue and black bear fur, from a cub someone once said, as a sign of his regal status. He stared at his boots with great sadness in his eyes, he wanted to help his grandfather if he were truly ill but knew that he would most likely be barred from even seeing him for quite a while. In the midst of his distress, a squirrel came down from a tree in front of him. He watched with wide, curious eyes as the squirrel approached him, then stopped about five steps away from him. In it’s mouth, it held an acorn, which it then held in it’s tiny paws. Thorin continued to watch, perfectly still, as the squirrel sat on it’s hind legs and gnawed at the acorn’s shell. Thorin smiled just by the fact that the squirrel hadn’t ran away, but it grew because the squirrel was looking at him as if it oddly understood him.

Suddenly, there was a great wind, so great that the pines rocked and creaked in a deep and screeching moan. The squirrel darted off, just as Thorin’s hair was pushed in front of his face. The wind was so powerful that he could have flown off the rock, if he hadn’t gripped the rock in time. There was then a quick and large shadow that darkened the sky and the forest for a scarce moment, what came next was a sound that would torment Thorin for the rest of his life.

A roar.

As soon as the roar died off and the wind slightly weakened, Thorin bounded out of the forest towards home. When he intercepted with the stone path, Dwarves from the Mountain were already fleeing in terror, shouting and crying, “ _Uslukh!_ ” The roar sounded again, making Thorin flinch and look up at the enormous, red beast circling the Mountain. It circled once, then twice, then it looked down with it's ugly head upon the forest from which Thorin had just escaped. Thorin watched in fright as flames came out from the mouth of the creature and slashed at the pinetops with one fiery blade. The Dragon did this to all trees around the Mountain, resulting in every pine to burn and blaze, which beckoned for the night. Thorin turned around and stood frozen at the trees he had just passed by, they were drenched in flames and black smoke that crept towards him and clouded the forest in thick black. Before it could reach his nose, however, Thorin was grabbed firmly by a familiar hand. He looked up to see his father, who had both his younger brother and sister in his arms. Both of them were crying in fear; Dís was sobbing and screaming into Thráin’s shoulder and Frerin had a hard grip on his large, black and silver beard. Just as his father dragged him into a run, to mimic their people, Thorin saw Thrór trailing along behind them. He clearly looked somber, as Thorin watched him look back at the Mountain another time where there was a fiery light dimming and undimming at the entrance. Balin was with Thrór, urging him on and telling him verbally and physically not to look back at the Mountain.

They all retired to the top of the hills just west of the Long Lake and south of Erebor, and it was there where the Dwarves of Erebor stayed for safety and guidance from Thrór, who was in no condition to make any decision on anything. Men, women, and children sobbed, some were so blinded by their trauma that they wanted to go back for their loved ones who were left behind, but were quickly stopped by the stronger hearts and hands. There were even Dwarves who had singed beards, which affected them terribly by not just the loss of their well-kept appearance but also by the beginning of an everlasting memory of how close they had gotten to the deadly flames. On their way to the hills, the sun had set, but no one would dare to watch it or admire it, for it only reflected and praised what the Dragon had done to their home. When night settled, it was refreshing and cool, like cold water on a hot summer’s day. The Moon, a full moon, was out, shedding its infamous pale light on the land like a soothing and calming blanket. Frerin and Dís had cried so much that they had fallen asleep when the night took over. Other Dwarves followed, the older ones much later than the younger ones. Thorin, however, did not sleep, he could not sleep; the pines were still on fire, and now they were mere torches that signaled a new, dreaded, occupancy in Erebor. Thráin, who was also awake, put his hand on his son’s shoulder, then stood in front of him so that he could put both hands firmly on both shoulders. He knelt down, as Thorin had not sat down since he left the rock he was sitting on earlier, and the light revealed that he had tears in his eyes. These tears were present on the day Thorin’s mother passed and had not returned since until this very day. Thorin had cried on that day, but today he was in too much shock to even give his father an emotion, he almost appeared cold-heartedly stoic.

“I am so glad I found you,” his father started, in a cracking voice, “I thought I would have lost you, Thorin.” Thráin brushed Thorin’s hair with his abundantly-ringed hand. Thorin didn’t look at his father before, he was still staring at the trees and the Mountain, but when he spoke he met his father’s eyes. This was the only response Thráin needed and he concluded by kissing his son’s forehead, which was a sign of blessing and more meaningful than pressing foreheads. Just then, there was the sound of horses approaching the group. The Moon shone on the white horses, but also revealed that the riders were Elves. Thorin had never met an Elf in person, but he had seen enough drawings to know what one looked like. There were three Elves, two in armor and one in a green cloak. The one in the green cloak wore something on his head, sticks and twigs it appeared, on his head; he was the Elven King. The Elven King’s blonde hair glowed in the moonlight, along with his pale skin. Thrór, Thráin, and Balin met with the Elves, while Thorin tried to eavesdrop on their conversation. There was talk of the Dragon instantly, then there was retort about Thrór and that it was he that had caused this calamity, the response was the reminder that they were allies, and, after a few more moments of heated debate, the conversation finished when Thráin and Thrór were begging for help of any kind…but the Elven King departing with his two guards, once again at his side as he left. The sight and rejection left a scar on Thorin’s heart, a scar that told him that Elves were just as bad as the Dragon itself; that the Elves had betrayed not just his grandfather and his father, but all his kin; and that Elves did not have a care for anyone but themselves. There was now a deep hatred within Thorin for the Dragon and for the Elves who chose not to do anything to help, it burned just as strongly as the flames that attacked the forests and now resided within the Mountain that he was raised in and called his home.

“Thorin,” Balin interrupted.

Thorin glanced up at Balin, who looked at him with concern.

“You must get some sleep,” the older Dwarf said.

“No,” Thorin retorted, “I’m not tired.”

Balin sighed, as he usually did towards Thorin’s stubbornness, “You may not feel tired, but your heart and mind are,” he argued, pointing to Thorin’s chest and then up to his head. Thorin frowned, as his heart hardened more. On a normal day, he would have argued more, but instead he gave in and sat down where he stood. Someone soon came and gave him a blanket, which he felt guilt about because there was most likely others who needed it more than him. He stood back up, with the blanket in-hand, and approached the other Dwarves who were almost huddled together. Most of them already had blankets, but Thorin knew that there had to be someone without one.

Strayed far away from the group was a Dwarf woman sitting with two Dwarflings, one that looked a couple years younger than Thorin, and one that was about Dís’ age. The woman was sobbing, mourning her husband in Khuzdul. Sympathy within Thorin grew as he approached her cautiously. The two Dwarflings were asleep, but their faces were wet from recent tears and pale with lingering fear. The woman soon noticed him, her eyes widening with shock and fear towards him, “Prince Thorin,” she said in a gasp, “I-I told them I wanted to be alone with my children, but if they wish—“

Thorin handed his blanket to the woman, it was big enough for her and her boys. As the woman slowly took it with a quivering hand, Thorin briefly explained, “You need it more than I,” he said, with a smile that he hoped made the mother feel better. The woman returned with a small and shy smile, then put the blanket around herself and her boys, who cuddled more into the blanket and against her.

“May Durin bless you, thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2 – Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

There was an important decision to be made the day after the Sack of Erebor, this decision was brought on by Thráin, not Thrór. Thorin’s grandfather had looked longingly at the Lonely Mountain even after Thorin had finally drifted off to sleep. The hard ground and cold night was not kind to the young Dwarf prince and made him quite groggy the next morning; others shared his mood as Thráin began to propose the decision to his people. The decision was to head west, over the Misty Mountains, where they would be able to settle and find work in places such as Bree or even Ered Luin. But this was a long, dangerous, and demanding trip for those with young Dwarflings and those who were injured or still severely altered mentally. So Thráin added the suggestion that his kin in the Iron Hills would most likely take some in for refuge, but not all. This was a very hard decision to make for some, while most others were very confident in the Dwarves of the Iron Hills and would trust them above anyone from the West. Very few families decided to stay and follow the Sons of Durin west, it was mostly those who did not want to see the Mountain again and those who were skilled in some kind of work that the felt would be very beneficial to those in the West. Thorin was surprised to see that the woman he had helped was more than willing to join the journey with her young boys.

“My Lord, I will follow you until my legs wear,” she told Thráin, who was just as surprised as Thorin was, “Your son is a kind soul, I would like my sons to be much like him and look up to him as their Lord.” Thorin’s father warned the woman that the journey may not be the safest option for her sons, but she was adamant and stubborn like all Dwarven mothers. She introduced herself formally, then her sons; “The one in my arms is Nori, and this one is Dori,” she said, bringing her Dwarfling around from behind her. Dori stared up at Thráin in shock and fright, but he was more comfortable around Thorin. Dori surprisingly had more facial hair than Thorin, who only had prominent sideburns at the time. Dori had a stash and dark brown hairs on both jaws, similar to his mother. Thorin did not talk much to other Dwarflings, but he was polite and greeted Dori. Dori was more comfortable with him, perhaps it was because his mother had told him what Thorin had done for him, his mother, and his younger brother.

Just before the group left westward, Thorin hear someone familiar shout from the east.

“Wait! Wait for me!”

It was Dwalin, one of Thorin’s distant cousins on the Borin-side of the Durin family tree, and Balin’s younger brother. He was ten years older than Thorin and ten years away from maturity, but he was allowed to go to the Iron Hills to train with Thorin’s closer cousin Dain, who was four years older than Balin; The Dwarves of the Iron Hills were known for their impeccable skill in war technology and fighting, and since Dwalin was a very large Dwarfling both in stature and build, he was able to train with the Dwarflings of the Iron Hills. Dwalin and Thorin got along very well, if they were not cousins, they would be true friends. Dwalin acted as Thorin’s personal guard and would follow him as if he was a guard to the Crown. Dwalin even showed Thorin some moves that he had learned from their kin in the East, which only enhanced Thorin’s natural talent for swordsmanship and axesmanship.

_“You should train in the Iron Hills with Dain and I!” Dwalin once told him._

_Thorin declined, “I must stay with my granddad, he says he still has much to teach me about being a King!”_

_Dwalin had sighed and rolled his eyes, “What is there to teach? You would make a fine King right now! All you need is the crown and to park your arse on that throne!”_

_Thorin had laughed softly at the silliness of the vision of him wearing his grandfather’s crown that would be far too large for his head, “There is more to it than that, Dwalin!”_

But it seemed that the news of the sack had spread to the Iron Hills and Dwalin’s ear. Dwalin was running towards the group like a boar, then straight up to Thorin, “Are you alright, Thorin?!” He asked in almost a panic. Thorin blinked with surprise but assured him he was fine physically, though he neglected to tell him of his mentality as he did not know himself whether he was fine in his mind. Balin stormed over to his taller, younger brother and began to scold him, “Dwalin, go back to the Iron Hills!” Dwalin firmly shook his head, “No! I’m going with you! You all need me!” Dwalin said this, giving a sharp glance to Dori, who looked up at the enormous Dwarfling submissively, “ _Lu kalzatha bark,”_ he spat. Thorin furrowed his brows in disapproval of the insult, “Now isn’t the time to pick on others,” he hissed to his older cousin. Balin nodded in agreement, “He is right, we all need one another now to survive.” In the near distance, Thrór and Thráin were conversing in mutters, but Thráin had finally called for Balin to bring a full map of Middle Earth. Balin opened his dark red cloak to reveal that he wore a belt with a number of scrolls attached to it. He took out one of the scrolls and unraveled it, before going to Thráin. Thorin, curious of what would be discussed, followed Balin. Thorin hadn’t approached his grandfather since earlier yesterday, but he could see that there was a difference in him. Although Thrór had not slept, he looked as if he were full of life; his face was no longer dark, he no longer frowned, and he did not slouch as much as he had before…but he still looked sad; he did not wear his crown, for he left it behind in Erebor when the Dragon came. Thrór’s sorrowful eyes met Thorin’s, which affected the young Dwarf heavily. He rose from where he sat and told his son that he wanted to speak to his grandson before they could all look at the map, nobody objected. Thrór herded Thorin aside, far from the ear of Thráin and Balin. He was about to speak first, but it was in fact Thorin who spoke before him, “Balin said you were sick,” he said in a burst, as if it was something he withheld to tell his grandfather for a very long time and it had been eating away at his heart during that time, and when he finally said those words a level of burden was lifted from his young shoulders. Thrór was not astonished to hear this coming from his grandson, he nodded, “I was, I was terribly ill,” he started, “My mind and heart were ill and I was unaware of it.” Thorin frowned in confusion, when one was sick, one knew it, “How were you not aware, granddad?”

“It was a sickness of the mind, my lad.”

Thorin did not know that someone could be sick in the mind, but it made sense, “What made you sick, granddad? Will father get it too?”

Thrór sighed, looked back at the Lonely Mountain, then back to him, “I do not know, I pray to Mahal that your father will not get as sick as I was.” A smile crept under Thrór’s large, but now slightly unkept beard, “What matters is that I am unblinded and can now see clearly,” he said, ruffling Thorin’s black hair, “I hope that you are not distressed by our lack of time together, I am at fault for that.” Thorin smiled at his grandfather, “I’m not,” he assured him, then glanced at Erebor sadly, “How will you teach me to be a King when we no longer have a Kingdom?” Thrór stood straighter and huffed in mock scorn for what Thorin had insinuated, “By my beard, lad! We have a Kingdom! We are the Sons of Durin!” He gestured to the remaining survivors as he said this, “A Kingdom does not always have a throne or a crown, but it always has those who follow and therefore it is our birthright to protect those who follow us,” he explained, “Always remember that, Thorin.” Thorin took his grandfather’s words as gold and took them to heart. Thrór then added that this was the perfect opportunity for Thorin to fully experience leadership at its peak. In a time like this, leadership was vital to survival.

Thorin listened in to the plan that was collaboratively conjured by Balin, Thráin, and Thrór. Balin pointed out that they could travel through the Greenwood, but Thráin immediately rejected the suggestion by grumbling about how the Elven King would not be fond of them traveling near his border or even using his people’s path. Going north was out of the question, as its lands were riddled with orcs of the fiercest breeds. Going south was safer, as they would be traveling through the Brown Lands, which were south of the Greenwood, then continue east until they crossed the Misty Mountains and reached Dunland, which was pointed out by Thrór on the left side of the map. All were in favor of going south, and it was south that they traveled.

 

The Dwarves traveled for many moons, Thorin and Dwalin were put in charge of hunting for food along the way, and Thorin was given the chance to lead the way whenever his father and grandfather were too weary but relentless to stop. As the weeks went by, Thorin’s younger brother, Frerin, began to follow the example of him and Dwalin. Frerin was not as reserved or regulated as the older Dwarflings, Balin often grumbled about him being “reckless”. Frerin took Thorin’s bow numerous times and tried to hunt birds and squirrels as the group trekked, often straying dangerously behind. Because Thráin was busy with Dís, it was Thorin who had to control his brother.

“Frerin, you must stay with group,” Thorin grumbled in irritancy at the third time, when the group had just reached the Brown Lands.

Frerin groaned, like the two times before, and stomped past Thorin, “I’m just looking out for food, or orcs.”

Thorin glanced up and followed Frerin as they caught up to the group again, “You’re too young, that’s our job.”

“That isn’t fair! You aren’t even forty!”

Thorin smirked, “Well at least I can lift an axe,” he said in a proud attitude, “You can only use a bow, and bows are for Elves,” he teasingly hissed. Frerin stopped and turned to face him to retaliate, but Thorin kept his attitude, “If there were orcs around, you would not last a second without me,” he said, pushing away the bottom of his blue tunic to reveal a small sword with a golden hilt that was giving to him by Thrór. “And that is why you stay with us,” Thorin finished, walking around his brother. Frerin crossed his arms and sped up to meet Thorin’s pace, “You are too serious!”

“There’s no time for fun, you know that.”

Frerin lifted his head, “There always is! Without fun, everyone would be grumpy and serious all the time like you! Even father has fun with us!”

Thorin glanced down, “Father has fun with you and Dís,” he argued.

“That is because you want to be a King,” Frerin retorted.

“I _have_ _to_ be a King, for granddad. The oldest takes the throne, that is how it works.”

“Aye, but you don’t have to be a serious King!” Frerin countered with his immature smirk, “If _I_ were to become King, I would be a fun King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The majority of the survivors migrated to the Iron Hills, but some followed King Thrór, his son Thráin II, and grandson Thorin Oakenshield west into a long and homeless wandering. They eventually settled in the hills of Dunland where they made a living as best they could.”
> 
> “Twenty years later in TA 2790, Thrór now old, poor, and desperate, gave to his son Thráin II the last of the Seven Rings and a map of the Lonely Mountain. He then left his people and journeyed away north with a single companion called Nár.”
> 
> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the Díshonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 24 – 53 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 19 – 39 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 10 – 30  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799  
> I made Dwalin ten years older than Thorin, which does not correspond to the novel.
> 
> Lu kalzatha bark = Couldn't/he couldn't lift an axe


	3. Chapter 3 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

In three days, the Dwarves passed the Brown Lands, but they were soon encountered by the mighty Anduin River that stood in their way of reaching the Misty Mountains, which were clear to see and were to be the checkpoint of their travels. The issue was that the Anduin was very deep with a mild current, and some of the members of the group could not and would not swim across. There was soon an argument on what they were to do. Balin pulled out the map again and pointed that there was a bridge about two hundred and fifty miles north of where they stood, but that would require over a week of walking. Soon came an uproar of disagreement, especially from those who were older, fatter, and still recovering from injuries.

As the group bickered, Thorin looked across the Anduin and up at the range of mountains blanketed by mist. There had to be some way to get across so that everyone would be well enough to make the climb up those mountains. He remembered that the tradesmen of Gondor came up through the River Running by boats so that they could trade in Dale. They were well crafted and exquisitely designed, but what Thorin was always intrigued by was how the boats could carry so many things at once and not sink. He wondered if the same could be done in this situation. He turned back to the others and quickly counted them. There would not be enough time or potential resources to make an abundant amount of boats, but it was possible to make multiple trips with a small number of boats. As soon as he perfected his plan in his head, Thorin ran up to Balin and stood between the argument, “I have a plan!” He declared, which silence everyone and bought their undivided attention.

“We build a few boats and make trips back and forth until everyone is across.”

Some liked this plan, others were still unsure, and Balin argued, “What will we do with the boats then? They will be extra weight!”

“We can sell them,” Thorin answered, “If not everyone can find work to sustain themselves, we will sell the boats and give them the money.”

This gained everyone’s approval.

Thráin was nearby and was impressed with what his son had planned. So was Thrór, who agreed with Thorin that not everyone would be able to find work once they reached the West and therefore they had to gain funds by any means necessary.

“Does anyone here know how to build a boat?” Balin asked.

The question had to be asked. Dwarves were not equipped with that sort of knowledge, as they spent most of their lives underground and in mountains where boats were not necessary; Boats were a craft of Elves and Men. Everyone searched each other for any hope of knowledge, soon the search became desperate and losing faith. One Dwarf, who was injured, raised his arm, “I do.” Every set of eyes went to the Dwarf at the back of the group, his leg was in a worn bandage and his beard was uneven, as part of it had been burned off. He agreed to teach everyone, but only if he could receive a fair portion of the profits made by the selling of the boats. Everyone consented, and he immediately began to separate everyone into groups. Thorin, Dwalin, Thráin, and a few stronger Dwarves were put in charge of cutting down trees from the Greenwood.

Thorin had to borrow an axe from Dwalin, as he did not own one and a sword would be obviously useless against a tree. Thorin read the runes on the axe that was given to him, “ _Keeper_ ,” he read, “Keeper of what?” Dwalin smiled proudly, “It makes sense with the other one,” he explained, holding his up, “This grasps your soul, that one keeps it; _Grasper_ and _Keeper_.” Thorin smirked at the creativity and vulgarity of the names, then approached a tree that stood at the edge of the Greenwood, “Do trees have souls?” He wondered. Dwalin began to chop at a nearby tree, “Some do! They are Ents!” Thorin was soon reminded of the tales he read in his studies about Ents, the children of Ivon*, who was the wife of Mahal*, the creator the Dwarves. He was certain that the tree that stood before him was not in fact alive and began to cut the tree down.

It took the entire day to chop down the number of trees that were needed, but it was going to take longer to shape them into boats. The ones who didn’t cut down the trees had to sacrifice their sleep and energy to do this before sun-up. Luckily, there was still some stew left from what was made with a rabbit that Frerin had killed, so no one had to hunt tonight. Frerin was very proud of himself when he made his kill, his first kill. Thorin was proud of him as well, but he was more content by the fact that Frerin had finally done something productive with his recklessness. Frerin was too young to take part in making the boats, so he and Dori played by the edge of the river as the sun went down in their faces. It was night when Thorin finally approached them, the crescent moon was up, giving the Anduin a silver-lining and making their skin glow slightly in the light. Frerin and Dori were skipping stones across the water. They wanted to see if one of the stones could skip completely across the river. Thorin watched for a while, with his arms crossed, as the two made many attempts. Most stones skipped twice, occasionally they would skip three times, but Frerin was most enthusiastic when his stone skipped four times! Thorin finally told them it was impossible for the stone to reach across, no matter how hard someone threw it or how many times the stone skipped.

“I know,” Dori said, “I just like how they make ripples. The ripples are perfect and soothing!”

Frerin rolled his eyes and yawned, before going down to his fours and looking down into the water, “Thorin, are there fish in this river?”

Thorin fetched the river a glance, “Most likely.”

Frerin sprang to his boots and hurried off, “Come on, Dori! Let’s make spears and—”

Thorin had grabbed Frerin by his green hood, not only pulling him back but also lifting him off his feet so he could not move, “No,” he retorted. Frerin thrashed and growled, “Put me down, Thorin!” Thorin dropped his brother and stood behind him so that he blocked the river, “It’s late, and those are the only clothes you have.” Frerin stood up and brushed dirt off his clothes, “Fine, I just wanted to help,” he grumbled, storming off to the camp Balin and Thrór had made. Dori approached Thorin and stood in front of him, “I wasn’t going to do it anyways,” he said, “I don’t like getting wet.”

Thorin found a rock a little bit further from the camp; he sat down next to it and leaned against it so that he was propped up comfortably enough to fall asleep. He liked being on his own, he liked the silence and the peace and the freedom of reflecting on himself. Although he cared for his family and his friends more than his own life, he preferred being by himself. Thorin had spent plenty of time on his own during the exile, when he did he always thought of home and the things he used to do every day that he could not longer do. But tonight, he pushed those thoughts behind him. Today was the first day he could see the Misty Mountains clearly, and they gave him a new sense of life. He thought about a potential settlement wherever his grandfather chose to settle, that this settlement would prosper into something mighty, and he saw himself being a respected Dwarf Lord but still being groomed by his grandfather to be a King. He had a strong sense that things would get better, and this sense was given to him by the Misty Mountains. But as he relished in living on the other side, he remembered that there would have to be a time where he would have to look upon the other side of the Misty Mountains, where they then would become a barrier protecting him from his past. On the other side laid a Kingdom in ruin, a City in ash, and a Dragon sleeping upon the treasures of his fathers. The anger and hatred from that day emerged once again, and then he made a vow; that he would one day take back the homeland of his people, slay the dragon, and make the throne of the King Under the Mountain vacant for who rightfully deserved it…whether he had any help or not. Before that vowed could be fulfilled, Thorin knew he had to grow up and become a true leader, someone who everyone would respect and follow. He knew that he had that ability so far to only a small group, but he yearned for an army or two. Frerin suddenly approached, to Thorin’s shock. Thorin grew defensive immediately, “Go find your own rock,” he growled. Frerin sighed deeply, “Everyone is snoring, I can’t fall asleep. And there is no way I am going to sleep on my own…I heard sounds coming from the forest.”

“What do you want me to do, Frerin?”

“I want to sleep with you.”

Thorin plainly showed his mild disgust with a frown. Sleeping with parents was fine, but with your sibling? It was repulsive!

“I don’t like it either,” Frerin muttered, “But you’re the only one who doesn’t snore, and you can protect me, remember?”

Thorin thought, mostly about how damaging it would be to himself if he gave up his solitude for the night, then finally gave him a nod…which was more of a nod in defeat, “Fine.” Frerin laid down perpendicular to Thorin so that his head rested on Thorin’s legs. Thorin watched his younger brother fall asleep, he soon wondered what kind of Dwarf Frerin was going to be, and if he was ever going to grow up and mature like he did or be reckless until the day he died.

 

The next morning, the boats were ready. There were even oars made with the leftover wood; ere break of day, the Dwarves made trips back and forth carrying as many of their kin as possible at each trip until there was no one left on the east side of the Anduin. Thorin was highly praised for the successful plan, and so was the Dwarf who taught them how to craft the boats. Because of the suddenly praise and attention for Thorin, Thrór gave him the responsibility of guiding the group over the Misty Mountains. Balin handed him a map of the Misty Mountains to follow with, he pointed where they had to be: Dunland, which was south of where they would be once they had crossed. As Thorin lead the way up the Misty Mountains, he made a song for himself to remember everything he had thought about the night before and was had transpired not so long ago. He often mumbled the lyrics to himself until he developed a melody that he liked. One day, Dori asked what he was singing, as it was not something they were taught in Erebor. Thorin stopped, making everyone halt. He turned to his followers and told them his song. As the Dwarves continued to travel, they would add into the song of what the experienced during the Sack of Erebor, whether they were outside or inside during the time.

 _Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away ere break of day_  
_To seek the pale enchanted gold._  
  
_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
_While hammers fell like ringing bells_  
_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_  
_In hollow halls beneath the fells._  
  
_For ancient king and elvish lord_  
_There many a gleaming golden hoard_  
_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught_  
_To hide in gems on hilt of sword._  
  
_On silver necklaces they strung_  
_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung_  
_The dragon-fire, in twisted wire_  
_They meshed the light of moon and sun._  
  
_Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To claim our long-forgotten gold._  
  
_Goblets they carved there for themselves_  
_And harps of gold; where no man delves_  
_There lay they long, and many a song_  
_Was sung unheard by men or elves._  
  
_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
_The winds were moaning in the night._  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light._  
  
_The bells were ringing in the dale_  
_And men they looked up with faces pale;_  
_The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire_  
_Laid low their towers and houses frail._  
  
_The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_  
_The dwarves they heard the tramp of doom._  
_They fled their hall to dying fall_  
_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._  
  
_Far over the misty mountains grim_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To win our harps and gold from him!_

_Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To find our long-forgotten gold._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The song is first heard at the assembly in Bag End. Here it is sung accompanied by instruments; Fíli and Kíli on fiddles; Dori, Nori and Ori on flutes; Bombur on drum; Bifur and Bofur on clarinets; Dwalin and Balin on viols, and finally Thorin with his golden harp. While the dwarves sing, Tolkien describes how something Tookish and adventurous wakes up inside Bilbo. By the end of the same chapter, whilst laying in bed at night, Bilbo can hear Thorin humming this tune to himself, and the fifth verse from above is repeated, though with a slight difference in the last sentence, as 'claim' is changed to 'find'”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Far_Over_the_Misty_Mountains_Cold)
> 
>  
> 
> “Twenty years later in TA 2790, Thrór now old, poor, and desperate, gave to his son Thráin II the last of the Seven Rings and a map of the Lonely Mountain. He then left his people and journeyed away north with a single companion called Nár.”
> 
> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the Díshonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”  
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.
> 
> Thorin’s age: 24 – 53 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 19 – 39 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 10 – 30  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799
> 
> *Ivon = Yavanna  
> *Mahal = Aulë


	4. Chapter 4 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3

When the Dwarves finally crossed west over the Edge of the Wild, there was a somewhat lightness in everyone’s steps, even the injured appeared as if they were never harmed. It took a long amount of trekking and camping to cross the Misty Mountains, as the air and the ground became colder the higher they climbed. Everyone wore the clothes they wore the day Smaug took Erebor, so they were undressed or the clothes they wore became too worn to be useful at keeping themselves warm. The Dwarfling’s complained of the cold the most; even Frerin would walk in the warmth of Thráin’s coat. The older Dwarves could tolerate the cold, especially those with large beards such as Thrór and Thráin. Thorin, however, did not complain, even though his fur coat was nowhere near long enough to keep himself warm; when most Dwarves wore their hoods, he would not; when the cold huddled around a weak fire in a cave, he would sit outside and face the cold.

“What in Durin’s name are you doing out here?!” Dwalin had once complained, rubbing his bare arms as he loomed over Thorin, “Everyone is around the fire!”

Thorin faced westward, letting the harsh cold wind bite at his face and blow back his dark hair to show that he was undaunted by its attacks on him, “What of it? I am not cold.”

There was no point in arguing with Thorin, especially not for Dwalin, who constantly took Thorin’s word as gold. Since Thorin took a leader role in the exile, he had been altered by a new sense of maturity and responsibility, and often put others before himself. Thorin felt that he was sure of himself at all times, and most times he was right about things, so most never dared to question him…except Frerin, of course.

“Thorin, can we not move any quicker?” Frerin had complained one day, “I can’t feel my face!”

“If we move quicker, not everyone will be able to catch up,” Thorin grumbled in response.

“They would catch up eventually,” Frerin mumbled.

Thorin rolled his eyes, “One day, Frerin, you will lead a following of your own and you’ll understand.”

“They are not _your_ following,” Frerin argued, “They are following you because granddad can’t.”

Thorin smirked, “They are more my following than your’s. Perhaps you should return to father’s coat before your mind freezes as well.”

Frerin frowned at the insult and groaned, before storming back to Thráin, who was near the back of the group with Dís almost hidden in his coat.

 

A camp was settled north-Dunland, just south-west of the Moria Gate. Although the Glanduin was a little over fifty miles away, no one would dare go near Khazad-dûm. It was said that the Balrog that was awaken over seventy-hundred years ago was still asleep in depths of the mines. The next river a hundred miles south of the camp was the Gwathló, where a bridge laid and was another hundred miles from Bree, but no one wanted to leave Dunland. Of course, the camp was temporary, but most felt that they would remain there for quite awhile. The next course of action was to ask for help of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, which brought some disagreement; some did not want to trek any further, as it was a long ways to Ered Luin, others felt that because they were somewhat close to Bree that they would find a prosperous life where they were. Those of the Line of Durin wished to move on to Ered Luin because they were certain that the Dwarves of Ered Luin would let them stay. It was Thrór who settled the dispute; he gave a long and noble speech that consisted of him showing his sincere gratitude for those who took part in his perils and welcomed them to leave his rule. Many were very emotional, as they knew Thrór all their lives and could not fathom any other ruler as great as him. Thus, they vowed never to follow any other Lord but that of the Line of Thrór and they decided to stay. The Dwarves of the House of Durin continued on solemnly and sore in soul. Even Thorin, who constantly looked back at whom he had followed for what seem a short amount of time to him. Dori’s mother, however, was still adamant on following them, as she restated her vow.

They trekked into the night, they consented to not resting until they reached Ered Luin. The first night in the West was quite beautiful; the stars were plentiful in the dark blue sky, as if they were tiny diamonds like those the Dwarves had longer for since they were shooed away from their precious treasure. There was a new moon on this night. All the land looked blueish under the sky and Thorin felt a comfortable coolness surrounding him, unlike that violent and harsh cold from the Misty Mountains. The West itself was comfortable and quiet, almost too much so. Thorin had not seen a single creature since they had crossed, which was unheard of in the East. Because of this, nobody had eaten, leaving everyone cantankerous. They did briefly halt at the Gwathló to fill the makeshift canteens they were given from the Dwarves who stayed behind. As Thorin waited for the canteens to be filled, he sat by the river and looked at his reflection in the water. He had not seen himself in weeks, so he was surprised to see that his beard had finally grown in. Of course, it was not thick quite yet, but it was full in shape. Both his jaw, his chin, and his stache-area were covered in black beard hairs that were twice as long as stubble. At first, he was excited to finally see it, but then a haunting image of the Dwarves with singed beards invaded his optimism. He wondered if there were some Dwarves who had their beards completely burned off, but quickly shuddered at the thought. Watching himself in the river, he realized that everyone had sacrificed something or lost something during the sack: family, health, dignity, pride, happiness, wealth, shelter. But he hadn’t lost anything but his home, his dignity and pride only grew from his growth in leadership. He still had his family, which was most important to him. He suddenly felt someone push him face-first into the cold river. Luckily, the river was shallow, but the cold water on his face and on the top of his tunic made him enraged. He spun around to see Frerin laughing at him on the ground, then rose to confront him with furious vengeance. He grabbed his brother by his hair and pinned him hard on the ground, so he could not squirm.

“Are you awake now, Thorin?” Frerin asked cheekily.

Thorin growled and pulled his hair harder until Frerin shouted in pain, “ _Ikhfitu!_ ”

“Get off me!” Frerin whimpered.

“Leave me alone, you useless r—“

“Thorin!”

That was the voice of his father. He looked up at him looming above them, his angry face darkened by the night. Thorin shoved Frerin to the ground and stood up to face his father, close to mirroring his anger, “He started it! He pushed me in the—”

“I don’t care,” Thráin interrupted, “Frerin is smaller and you will hurt him. You know better than to lay hands on him.”

Anger and hurt boiled up in him. Without another word or sound he stormed back to the rest of the group. As he did, he heard Frerin let out a confident and victorious grunt behind him. As they continued towards the Blue Mountains, which were now visible in the night’s distance just as the Misty Mountains became invisible, Thorin felt the aftermath of his brother’s prank against his chest. Usually, the cold would not bother him, but this time it did. He soon thought back to the night of the Sack when the elves turned on the need of their allies, he suspected that his grandfather and father would have felt the coldness of the rejection of their so-called friends; to have made a strong, trustworthy commitment and healthy bond with someone for so long, with a mortal enemy no less, and then have them turn away from you when you are in dire need…it was dishonourable, there was no honour in that. His thoughts then went specifically to the Elven King and wondered how he treated his own people, perhaps he would become a better King than him.

It was almost dawn of the next day when the group finally reached the gate of Ered Luin. The gates, however, were already open as the lords there had heard about what had happened in Erebor and were expecting Thrór and some of his survivors to arrive for refuge. The habitants of Ered Luin lived quite differently than those of Erebor. The commoners lived outside of the mountains, or on the mountains’ cliffs. Some houses were made of stone while others were made of wood; just as the West was peaceful, the habitants were confident that dragons or orcs would never try to attack their peaceful villages as most people were kind and modest, but naïve and weak in skill.

The Dwarves not long ago had passed through a town called Hobbiton. The name struck something in Thorin’s memory as he remembered reading about beings called Hobbits. Upon reading about them the first time, he was disgusted by how frail and dainty they sounded, they lived without a worry or danger…how was that possible? As he observed the homes of the Hobbits, he was confused to see that there were no signs of weaponry or any metal equipment like that of Erebor or the Iron Hills. The land was filled with many different odours of food of all kinds, which rudely reminded Thorin that he was starving and made Dwalin grumble about a good plate of cookies. Some Hobbits sat outside some of the homes, smoking from tiny pipes of what smelled like genuine tobacco. When they met eyes with the Dwarves, their eyes widened with fright and submission. Thorn frowned at them, why had nobody asked why they were passing through their home? Why were there no guards around? Why did none of them carry axes or swords, and which one did they prefer? But what surprised him most of all was that the Hobbits wore no boots and waddled around bare-footed constantly. One Hobbit obliviously walked by the Dwarves, and Thorin could only remember the sound of their feet tapping and slapping against the ground like a duck. Thorin finally leaned towards Dwalin and grumbled, “These Hobbits are very queer.”

“Aye,” Dwalin agreed, in a growl, “Do you see the clothes they wear? Where are the furs?!”

“They have no beards to boot,” Dori whispered.

The Lords of Ered Luin were not of the House of Durin, but of Firebeards and Broadbeams. It was easy to tell the two houses apart by the colour of their hair. Because the Longbeards were superior to the two houses, and Thrór was still the King of all seven Dwarf houses, the Firebeards and Broadbeams welcomed them into their home with open arms. They were very much relieved to see that Thrór’s kin had survived and offered him his own halls in Ered Luin. The Broadbeam lord was named Bergr and the Firebeard lord was called Éldi. Thorin had met them only once before on an occasion that took place a decade ago. Bergr had the typical appearance for a Broadbeam; stocky, broad-shouldered and black-haired. His hair was long and solid black, though most of it was in braids with blue beads that contrasted with his hair. His brows were thick and bushy, almost that they covered his eyes completely…much like Dwalin. His beard was so long that he had it tucked under his blue belt twice, however it was not braided. Bergr wore a purple-blue tunic with grey fox fur around his shoulders, Éldi wore similar clothing only with red fox fur around his narrower shoulders. Éldi was only half as broad as Bergr, his brows were not as thick, and his beard was only half the length of Bergr’s and his beard was mostly braided. His hair was a mix of red and blonde, the older hair was vibrant red and the newer hair coming in was blonder. This made it look like his hair and beard were in flames. After they greeted Thrór and Thráin in Khuzdul, they approached Thorin. They were much taller than him, so they almost loomed over him, though they did not daunt the young Prince.

“Look at this lad! So, grown now, ain’t he?”

“Aye, a spitting image of his father’s father!”

Thorin stood in silence, unsure how he was supposed to respond. The two chuckled, Éldi patted his shoulder comfortingly, as if he thought he needed it, “We hope our home will treat you admirably, lad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Twenty years later in TA 2790, Thrór now old, poor, and desperate, gave to his son Thráin II the last of the Seven Rings and a map of the Lonely Mountain. He then left his people and journeyed away north with a single companion called Nár.”
> 
> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the Díshonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 24 – 53 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 19 – 39 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 10 – 30  
> Dwalin’s age: 34 – 63 (Mature)  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799  
> Ikhfitu! = "Take that!"  
> Bergr: Old Norse (bjarga) = “to help, save, rescue”  
> Éldi: Old Norse (eldr) = “fire”


	5. Chapter 5 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 (TA 2770 – 2780)

The Dwarves’ New Year had passed just a few days after the Dwarves of the Line of Durin were welcomed in to Ered Luin. Durin’s Day was usually a happy and uplifting celebration, as the Dwarves recollected the awakening of their first father and the tale of their creation over a feast and cheerful music. But this year it was solemn for Durin’s people; there were no torches or candles lit; the music was mournful and grim as it played along to Thorin’s song which he had taught to the Dwarves of Ered Luin; there were no words of pride or joy; and very little food was eaten. At the end of the celebration, Thrór finally rose and said some words to uplift his kin, “Should this day not be a sign of hope? One day we will have our revenge! We will take back Erebor if it is the last thing I ever do to ensure that our people did not die in vain!” All were comforted and contented by Thrór’s vow, to the point where they all adopted it as their own and kindled their own version of it. Thorin imagined leading a massive army of the mightiest soldiers towards Erebor, vanquishing the Dragon, and reclaiming what rightfully belonged to his grandfather.

But this desire would have to wait, for Thorin had to take up a bigger responsibility for his brother and sister. From this year onwards, there would be many meetings between the Seven Houses where both Thráin and Thrór would have to take part in. These meetings were often far from home and mostly consisted of Thrór pleading to the Dwarf Lords for help. But no one would dare accept to disturb the Dragon from it’s dormancy, and instead denied the plea. The only way they would accept the request were if they were presented with the Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel, as all Dwarves would look up upon that who wore the jewel above his brow.

Thorin was given his own room in the Blue Mountains, where the Lords resided in their own rooms. Frerin and Dís shared a room next door to his so that he could easily reach them if they needed him.

“Why do I have to sleep with her?” Frerin complained.

“Because both of you are infants,” Thorin answered, giving him a prideful smirk, “Speaking of which, shall I change your diaper now, Frerin?”

Frerin growled and stormed off.

Surprisingly, Thorin had learned about diaper changing from Dori. Dori observed everything his mother did with his little brother, Nori, which made him have a very picky and proper personality and very knowledgeable on caring for children…especially since Nori was naturally mischievous and difficult. Dís had just began to speak, which made Thorin in charge of teaching her new words and how to read. She did not always get along with him, but she was much more tolerable than Frerin. Her hair was dark like his and Frerin’s, but her eyes were brown unlike his. As she grew older, she spent more time with Frerin, and adopted some of his recklessness.

Thorin spent most of his days in Bree. Although they were given a place to stay, Thorin still had to provide for his family and there were no vacant jobs in the Blue Mountains. Finding a job was hard, not many believed that he was of royal blood, nor did they want or like Dwarves. Thorin had to go many months bartering with tradesmen in Bree for things that his siblings or his people needed. He rarely bartered for himself, except if he felt that his clothes were becoming too worn. Most times, however, he would have to barter for food, as there were no bountiful hunting grounds near Ered Luin and he had not been practicing with any weapons since his arrival. He would promise money from his father, whom he would have to steal in order to not be called a thief and a liar by the people of Bree. There were only very few who believed that Thorin was a prince and that he came all the way from Erebor. Eventually, a blacksmith position opened and a very kind man who had heard Thorin’s story gave him the job with a fair weekly payment.

When Thorin finally had some spare time, he would go to Dwalin, Dori, and Frerin, who had met a few other Dwarves and befriended them quickly. Their names were Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. The three were very humorous and constantly saw the good in daily life. When Thorin met them the first time outside in a nearby forest, they all bowed to him.

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked.

Bofur, who wore a hat that was almost too large for him, looked up at Thorin with embarrassment on his cheek, “We…uh…are bowing,” he replied, “You _are_ a prince, aren’t ya?”

Thorin shook his head to him, “Don’t bow, I’m nothing,” he muttered, going to sit on a rock.

“What is his problem?” Bifur asked Dwalin.

“He has a lot on his shoulders,” Dwalin answered in condescension, “He is basically raising his siblings.”

Frerin glared up at the taller Dwarf, “I can take care of myself!”

Dwalin shot a glare down at him, “Then why don’t you go out there and find a job?”

Bofur watched Thorin, feeling pity for him. He cautiously approached him and stood in front of him, “Y’know, when I feel down, I sing a nice song or play my flute. Do you know any songs?”

Although he very much knew one, it was definitely not the type of song that would make him feel any better, “No,” he therefore answered.

“Do you play an instrument?”

“No.”

Bofur gasped, “No wonder you are so down!” He grabbed Thorin’s wrist and almost yanked him off the rock he sat on, “Come on!” The others followed as Bofur took Thorin to a room in the Blue Mountains that was spacious and had lots of different instruments, some Thorin knew and others that he had never seen before. There were fiddles, clarinets, flutes, a lute, and a strange instrument that had a plaid bag attached to it.

“Those are bagpipes,” Bifur pointed out.

“Aye, they have plenty of those in the Iron Hills,” Dwalin commented, “Loud bastards,” he grumbled.

“I think they are quite nice if you stand a fair distance,” Bofur objected.

Thorin tried all the instruments; the fiddle was too small, the clarinet was simple but squawky, the flute was too dainty, his fingers were too large for the lute (although Dwalin chose it and played it with complete ease…his fingers were much larger than Thorin’s), and he would not go near the bagpipes.

“There must be something you want to play, Thorin!” Frerin complained, “ _I_ like the fiddle!” He was already mastering sawing the bow back and forth vigorously against the strings of the fiddle.

Something in the room caught Thorin’s eye, something shining in the light, something made of gold. It was covered with an old blue tarp that looked oddly familiar to him, “What is that?” He finally asked.

Bofur walked up to the object and unveiled it. Thorin stared at it as the object attracted more light from the torches in the room and began to glow like the sun. It was tall but small and it was elegant, with numerous runes and Erebor patterns engraved into it as if it carried the last memories of home…the object made him think of the halls of his home, they were always filled with such a warm and rich golden light. The strings on this object were so thin they could be made of silk or hair.

Bofur jumped back slightly in surprise, “Oh, this must be the harp that your grandad sent with Gloin.”

“Cousin Gloin is still here?” Frerin asked, stopping his playing. Gloin had recently gotten married to his betrothed in the Blue Mountains, his brother Oin had gone with him as his Best Man, but according to Bofur it seemed that Thrór had allowed Gloin to take the harp with him, so it could be played on his wedding night as a wish of good fortune from him. When they had heard about the Dragon, they were forced to stay in the Blue Mountains. Bifur added that they spent most of their time with Balin, who was similar in age to them.

After a few more intimate moments of gazing at the beautiful instrument, Thorin finally asked under his breath, “Why did he never tell me about this?”

Frerin looked over at the harp and stood by Thorin, “Why are you staring at it? It’s just an object!”

“Can you not see? It is beautiful!”

Frerin frowned and glared up at Thorin, “You are starting to sound like granddad when he was sick. Over my dead body will you _ever_ be like that, Thorin, you’re already grumpy enough!” He pushed Thorin back by prodding harshly on his chest until Thorin snapped out of his lust and growled at his younger brother, “Fine! Stop pushing me!”

 

Ten years had passed, Thorin was almost of mature age and his life of hard labour and of caregiving had become a comfortable routine for him. He spent more of his spare time strengthening his skills with every weapon he could encounter, he even improved on his archery for the benefit of being able to hunt. But it was at this point that Thráin and Thrór finally gave up on trying to convince their kin to help them take back Erebor, Thrór more begrudgingly; they were also becoming too old to travel long distances. Thráin took back the responsibility of taking care of Dís and Frerin, but he reminded Thorin that there would become a time where he would have to permanently take over. This gave Thorin even more spare time, allowing him to venture further east and hunt with Dwalin and Frerin. Frerin had somewhat matured during the decade, though he had started spending time with Dwarflings who were just as reckless as him and whom Thorin highly disapproved of.

On the day Thorin reached his mature age, he was given the golden harp as a gift from his grandfather. Though he was still enchanted by the beautiful instrument, he did not have the lust that he had ten years earlier. Because of this, he and his friends would often gather in the instrument room and play music together, often times they would make up songs and tunes by pure improvisation. For example, Bofur insisted that there be a happier or pleasanter version of Thorin’s song, so they completely changed the song, but kept the tune. And it went as so;

 _The wind was on the withered heath,_  
_but in the forest stirred no leaf:_  
_there shadows lay be night or day,_  
_and dark things silent crept beneath._  
_The wind came down from mountains cold,_  
_and like a tide it roared and rolled;_  
_the branches groaned, the forest moaned,_  
_and leaves were laid upon the mould._  
  
_The wind went on from West to East;_  
_all movement in the forest ceased,_  
_but shrill and harsh across the marsh_  
_its whistling voices were released._  
  
_The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,_  
_the reeds were rattling--on it went_  
_o'er shaken pool under heavens cool_  
_where racing clouds were torn and rent._  
  
_It passed the Lonely Mountain bare_  
_and swept above the dragon's lair:_  
_there black and dark lay boulders stark_  
_and flying smoke was in the air._  
  
_It left the world and took its flight_  
_over the wide seas of the night._  
_The moon set sail upon the gale,_  
_and stars were fanned to leaping light._

Thorin also received his own sword as a gift from his father and an axe from Balin. The sword was broad with an engravement down the middle of the blade and large triangular point; it was a true sword of battle, though Thorin could not name his sword yet until he used it in combat. The axe had two blades that pointed in one direction to make an arrow and it had patterns engraved into the iron. It was also long enough for him to use as a walking stick if needed, Balin had said. Frerin was mildly jealous with the event, as well as Dís, who had also started to learn how to use weapons…but neither of them were as skilled as their older brother.

It was on this day that Thorin noticed his beard was thicker and darker than a decade ago. It was now almost an inch past his jaw, a good sign; a true Dwarf Lord had the longest beard, with as many braids and accessories as possible. He could see himself with a similar beard to Bergr, where it was so long that he had to tuck it under his belt. But he once again remembered those who had singed beards or lost them completely. They were now most likely subjected to ridicule, especially those of higher status. Why was it that he could survive the sack and not have any consequences? Day after day, his father and grandfather lost their charisma to foresee and hope for redemption for those who had lost; someone had to take over and be that voice, that power.

He went to Dori’s room, where he, his brother, and his mother stayed. Thorin hoped that no one was in the room, so that he could take Dori’s beard trimmer. Dori had the most well-kept beard, it was short but neat with a nice braid on both sides of his jaw that met as a singular braid under his chin. But Dori’s mother was unfortunately in the room with Nori, and she noticed him immediately as he stood in the doorway. Nori ran up to Thorin and tried to take off his belt, which was black leather with a jewelled buckle. Thorin frowned and pushed the little Dwarfling away, “Get off me,” he hissed quietly, as not to upset his mother.

She quickly rose from the bed from which she sat on and grabbed Nori, “My apologies, Thorin! He just really seems to like the shiny things!”

Thorin soon noticed that the mother was larger than usual, not fat of course, but he remembered the look his mother had when she was carrying Dís, “Are you with child, Madam?”

A bit of blush went to her cheeks as she nodded, “I am, it seems that my husband has compensated me with another child. I feel that his spirit will truly be in this one.”

Thorin gave her a small, but sympathetic smile, “Perhaps I should come another time—”

“No, no, please! What brings you here, my Lord?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow Dori’s beard trimmer.”

She pricked her brows with surprise, “Whatever for?”

Thorin touched the longer ends of his beard, mentally measuring them, “My beard is not even enough,” he started, “I unfortunately must trim where it is too long.”

Without further question, Dori’s mother presented him with the beard trimmer. Thorin went outside where a river divided Ered Luin in two, it was called Little Lhûn. Eventually, Little Lhûn became the Gulf of Lhûn and enter into the Belegaer. It was there where he used the reflection of the water to trim his beard. As he began to trim, he soon sensed that someone was watching him. He changed the angle at which he could see the reflection until he noticed Frerin hiding behind a nearby tree.

“What in Durin’s name are you doing?!” Frerin exclaimed, rushing over to Thorin.

Thorin turned around to face him angrily, “Why were you following me?”

“I asked a question first, Thorin!”

Thorin rolled his eyes and turned away, “It’s none of your concern,” he grumbled, “Just go away.”

“I’m telling grandad that you are trimming your beard!”

He froze and turned around again, “Fine. Yes, I’m trimming it, but I have good reason.”

Frerin sat down next to Thorin, sighing, “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not letting this grow out until Erebor is reclaimed,” Thorin explained.

“But that could be hundreds of years from now! Nobody would dare go near that dragon, father said so!”

“If no one will, I will. But for now, this will serve as a reminder for me and for our kin that _I_ am not forgetting, and that _I_ am not forgiving those elf bastards or that bloody dragon for the suffering and death of our people.”

Frerin grew a large and enthusiastic smile, “That’s the spirit! I think I will trim my beard too, then we will match!”

Thorin smiled at his younger brother, “You still have yet to grow yours,” he commented, continuing to trim his beard carefully. Frerin now had similar sideburns that Thorin once had, but nothing on his face.

“I’m trying!” Frerin defended, before lifting is chin high, “Just you wait, it will come all at once one day and I will need an axe to trim it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Twenty years later in TA 2790, Thrór now old, poor, and desperate, gave to his son Thráin II the last of the Seven Rings and a map of the Lonely Mountain. He then left his people and journeyed away north with a single companion called Nár.”
> 
> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the Díshonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 34 – 40 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 29 – 35 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 20 – 26  
> Dwalin’s age: 44 – 50 (Mature)  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799


	6. Chapter 6 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 – Thrór’s departure (TA 2790)

Thorin had heard many rumours that his grandfather was going to leave Ered Luin and travel to the lost, ancient city of Moria. To him, he couldn’t possibly imagine his grandfather ever leaving his people behind, it wasn’t what he had taught him, it wasn’t honourable or noble to do so. He had heard the rumours from Gloin and Dwalin, who apparently heard them from Balin. It was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, but Dwalin felt that Thorin had to know. It angered Thorin that no one had told him first, that they were keeping such crucial information from him, especially after being so close to Thrór all his life. When Thrór had seen that Thorin was trimming his beard, he was quite affected by it, but Thorin could not tell whether he was upset or proud.

Thrór had befriended a Dwarf named Nár, who was about Balin’s age and acted as his companion. Nár was a wise Broadbeam but, in Thorin’s opinion, was slightly manipulative. When Thorin wanted to visit his grandfather, Nár denied him from doing so outside his room, claiming that Thrór was in a melancholic state of mind and would not be good company.

“He is _my_ grandfather,” Thorin argued, “If he is sorrowful, I would like to help him.”

“You cannot help him, no one can. It is best for him to be left alone.”

“How do _you_ know? You know nothing about what is best for him. He is _my_ family.”

Nár finally sighed and confessed, “He wishes to leave, Thorin. He believes that he is no longer fit to rule his people. I promised him that I would not tell you—“

Outraged, Thorin shoved past Nár and forced himself into his grandfather’s room, “You cannot leave!” He roared, “We need you! I need you!” Thrór sat on his bed, watching Thorin’s outburst in solemn and stoic silence. Thorin glanced down submissively, trying as hard as he could to compose himself, “I still need to learn,” he muttered, “Who will teach me if you leave?”

Thrór finally rose and stood in front of Thorin. Thorin had grown to be taller than most of his family, and he had to get used to looking down on those he used to look up to. “You have nothing more to learn,” Thrór said, “You have grown so much, Thorin. Every day I hear something honourable about you, things that I would not have done even in my younger years. If you were to take the throne today, I would not have a single doubt in you. However, my time has come and I wish to see that city of old. I am not like you; I am not loyal enough to cut my beard for my people…and that is why I must go.”

Thorin froze in shock, “I-I did not mean to offend you, granddad.”

“I know you didn’t, lad. The reality is that I am old and dying, I feel it in my bones and in my heart every day.”

“Then I will look after you,” Thorin countered, slowly losing his composure. The urge to cry burned his eyes, but he wanted to stay stoic for his grandfather…and not at the same time, “Please don’t leave us.”

Thrór answered in a sharp grumble, “I will not be a burden! I wish to die alone with dignity, is that too much to ask?!” The harsh anger in his tone brutally attacked Thorin, as it was meant to. Thorin absorbed the anger from his grandfather and stormed out of the room, once again shoving past Nár, who appeared to have been eavesdropping.

 

“So he is just going to leave?!”

“For the third time, yes,” Thorin grumbled.

Frerin paced quickly at the foot of Thorin’s bed, his arms crossed. He finally slowed down to a halt and sighed at the floor, “I guess if I were him, I would do the same,” he muttered. Thorin wiped the minimal amount of tears that he did shed after his argument with his grandfather, “I would never leave my people,” he argued. Frerin stood in front of Thorin as he sat on his bed, appearing very similar to Thrór some time ago, “Think of it this way, Thorin, he’s saying that you are better off leading us than he is…and I agree.”

Thorin furrowed his brows and looked up at his brother, “What?”

“You can be a real grumpus sometimes, but you always know what you’re doing, and you always think about everyone else. He sees something in you that you can’t see for yourself.”

“He does not have to leave,” Thorin murmured.

Frerin smirked, “How would you like it if I was crowding around you when you are two hundred and fifty years old?”

Thorin glared at Frerin and cringed slightly as he imagined Frerin treating him like a Dwarfling, much like he had done to him.

 

The day Thrór left Ered Luin, he formally passed his title onto Thráin. Nár announced that he would be leaving with Thrór, much to Thorin’s scorn. Thrór’s departure was bittersweet, as many wished the best for him but were just as upset as Thorin was to see him leave because they believed he would not return. Thorin’s father was now the King of all Dwarves and he took his role very seriously. He was not as laid back as his own father, but he was in his right mind and content overall. Thorin’s change in status to the heir of the throne made him have more responsibilities concerning his father. He was no longer allowed to be with his lower-status friends and he was to follow his father to meetings with other Dwarf lords. Though the meetings were boring, Thorin learned much about the other Dwarves of the other Houses. When they had learned about Thrór’s departure in the first meeting, which took place a couple weeks after Thrór had left, they admitted that they had not entirely trusted him in the past few decades, especially when he became ill in Erebor.

“It is called Dragon Sickness,” the Stonefoot lord said. The fact that he had spoken up somewhat shook the other Dwarves, as the Stonefoots were the most reserved and quiet of all the Dwarves, “It is a terrible curse that distorts one’s mind to be filled with the lust for treasure. That gem you called the Arkenstone cursed him, I am sure of it.”

Amid the guilt and condolences from the other lords, the Ironfists were the most reluctant and dishonest, for they had a small grudge against the Longbeards. Despite this, they and the other lords expressed their highest respects and hopes for Thorin, and even higher ones for their new King.

The meetings were a very formal affair, most lords brought their families or higher status commonfolk with them to the meetings, as there were events that they could partake in while the lords held their meeting. Frerin always accompanied Thorin, as he was also of royal blood. But his attention was very much drawn to the young Dwarf ladies. Thorin, however, was not, despite the constant pressure from his father. Thorin felt that he had more important duties and goals to achieve before he could even think about finding love, also the Dwarven ladies did not find Thorin attractive whatsoever; his short-trimmed beard was an immediate turn-off. Dwarven ladies were known for being just as loud and obnoxious as male Dwarves, Thorin knew this quite well from watching his sister grow.

Thorin had his view off Frerin for no more then a minute, when he turned and saw Frerin flirting with a group of ladies. He swiftly stormed over and pulled Frerin away by the back of his collar, hissing “You are embarrassing father!”

“He wasn’t going to find out,” Frerin argued, rolling his eyes, “At least _I_ am making an effort! Why aren’t you talking to them?”

“I have better things to do,” Thorin growled.

This particular meeting was one of many meetings that discussed the realm of Khazad-dûm, or Moria. Thráin felt that the loss of Erebor forced him to have to consider reclaiming Moria. It was a very difficult decision, as the Balrog that lived within the depths of Khazad-dûm was just as fierce as the Dragon in Erebor. But without a sustainable and mighty Dwarven realm, there was only going to be an increase of homeless and jobless Dwarves in Middle Earth and a decrease in the production of treasure and precious metals that the mines of Erebor and Moria were once responsible for. There was high debate over taking over Moria, however, as it was rumoured that there was an orc leader in the Misty Mountains that was planning on infiltrating Moria by the command of the Dark Lord. Concerns were then raised about Thror, who had spoke of visiting that realm in his parting. The Ironfists were especially against Thráin’s plan, they were not interested in taking such a big risk in favour of the Longbeards. Thorin sat in silence as the debate escalated into random outbursts and curses, he wanted to say something, but sensed that his opinion would not be appreciated. Based on a majority vote to not attack Moria, the meetings were finished, sending those who had travelled far from the East home early.

Thráin sat in defeat at the head of the table as everyone but he and Thorin left Ered Luin. The room was dead with silence, until there was frantic knocking at the closed doors of the meeting room. The knocking was so frantic that Thorin rose and opened the door with urgency, grumbling, “What in Durin’s name—”

Nár stood at the door, his clothes were close to shreds, he was filthy, and his face was ridden with grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Twenty years later in TA 2790, Thrór now old, poor, and desperate, gave to his son Thráin II the last of the Seven Rings and a map of the Lonely Mountain. He then left his people and journeyed away north with a single companion called Nár.”
> 
> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the dishonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 44 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 39 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 30  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799


	7. Chapter 7 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6 – Thrór’s death and the onset of the War of Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2790 – 2793)

Nár trembled before Thráin and Thorin, his eyes would not meet them, as they were filled with shame. Unlike his father, Thorin was livid to see Nár had returned alone and was impatient that Nár had not explained himself yet.

“What happened, Nár?” Thráin asked, his voice calm but concerned.

Nár slowly sat down in a chair, and slowly took out a small pouch of coins. After plopping the pouch on the table, he put in his trembling hands together on the tabletop and stared at his darkened and cut-ridden hands, “Thrór is dead,” he said in a weak rasp, “The orc, called Azog, beheaded him.”

The news shocked Thorin, so much that he felt a pain in his chest.

“I…I saw it myself. He carved his name in runes upon his brow.”

Thorin turned away around Nár, almost staggering to the safety of the darkness of the room. His arms crossed firmly and protectively, but also in brewing anger.

“When he saw me, he struck me with this pouch of coins,” Nár continued, pushing the pouch over to Thráin, “I-I could not retrieve his body, they guarded it like it was treasure…I had to flee…”

Thorin turned back sharply with the traumatized Dwarf, letting out a growl, “You left him there?!”

“Thorin,” Thráin growled back.

“I want to know why he left grandad’s body to those filthy—”

Thráin turned to his son sharply and snapped, “That is enough, Thorin!”

Nár looked at Thorin in fear and guilt. He looked down at his hands and pressed his forehead to his clasped hands. He said a prayer in Khuzdul, then lifted his head up. The torches in the room illuminated his tears, “When I looked back, they tore his body apart and fed the pieces to the ravens,” he cried in agony. The pain in Thorin’s chest had worsened, he was trying to imagine what Nár had depicted…but couldn’t. His grandfather, who he had spent the majority of his Dwarfling years with, being hacked to pieces and tossed away like trash…he couldn’t fathom it, but it had happened. There was no dignity in that sort of death, it was a message; a warning and a taunt to all those of Thrór’s kin. Thorin could now hear his father cry, only one other time had he heard this. It was just as painful as the news itself. His father’s weeping slowly turned to anger, as he began to curse in Khuzdul words that even Thorin had never heard or learned before. When this anger peaked, Thráin aggressively rose from his seat in a loud sorrowful cry, tore his beard into pieces and shreds, then fled the room in a rage. Thorin could sense the mass of anger and grief that surrounded his father as he nearly pushed him away. Now it was Thorin and Nár who were left. Nár had buried his face into his arms on the table and cried quietly. The more Thorin watched him, he angrier he became. He stormed over to Nár, grabbed him viciously by his worn collar, and pinned him against the wall behind his seat, “You were supposed to protect him!” Thorin roared, “You did this to him! His death is on _you_!” His eyes once again burned with the urge to cry, and this time he let the urge take over, “You did not even try to recover his body,” he said in a broken voice.

“I _couldn’t!_ ”

“That is no excuse,” Thorin hissed through bared teeth, furiously wiping his tears before they could even roll down his cheeks. He released Nár in a hard throw against the wall, then left the room. “I will avenge him,” he said under his breath. The pain of having parted from his grandfather on unhappy terms had resonated within him, but now it was throbbing. He wished that he could have taken back his anger towards him, that their parting words were not as cold as they had been on the day he left. He now felt that the only way to reconcile was to avenge his grandfather by killing his murderous and monstrous enemy.

 

Thráin spent the rest of the week in silence and sorrow. Thorin had to temporarily return to looking after his siblings. They would often watch him, hoping for any word or sound from their father. He ate very little, which concerned Thorin greatly. One night, Thorin heard Dís crying in her room. She was loud in voice and her weeping was no different. Thorin could not possibly sleep to the racket, nor could anyone else who was trying to sleep. After much contemplation, Thorin left his room to talk to Dís. As he approached her door, he saw that there was torchlight under the door, indicating that she had not even attempted to fall asleep. When he opened the door, Dís had her face buried into her pillow, but she sat straight up when she heard him enter, “Go away!”

Thorin was not phased by his sister’s demand. He closed the door behind him and crossed his arms, “And let you continue to cry?”

She groaned and turned around, crossing her arms in a similar fashion.

There was a long pause between them, Thorin had anticipated for an explanation of some sort…but she was as stubborn, if not stubborner, than him, “Are you not going to tell me why you are crying?”

“Why do you care?”

Thorin rolled his eyes, “Because I would like to sleep tonight.” Dís looked over her shoulder to give her sarcastic brother a cold glare. He sat on her side of the bed, but at the very foot of it, “Although I do not appear so…I do care, perhaps too much,” he muttered, “When father is gone, I will have to look after you…though it appears that—”

Dís broke into another sobbing fit. Thorin watched her uncomfortably for a moment, trying to decide whether to comfort her or leave her alone. Leaving her alone hadn’t done much good so far, so comforting her was the next best option. He shifted closer to hug her, but it was instead she that hugged him first, “Father _is_ gone, isn’t he? He’s lost his mind like granddad did,” she mumbled against Thorin’s shirt. He looked down at her with surprise, “How do you know that?” She sat up, wiping her tears and rubbing her nose with the sleeves of her nightgown, “I overheard Balin talking about it. He says that granddad was sick in Erebor. Is this true?”

Thorin nodded, “But father has not lost his mind, he is just grieving.”

“Then why does he sit there doing nothing?”

“That is just how he is grieving. He should recover soon.”

Dís let go of her brother and sat beside him, glancing down at her hands, “I hope so,” she muttered. Thorin kissed her forehead and stood up, “Get some sleep, alright?” Dís nodded and climbed into her bed. Thorin went around the room, blowing out the torches until the entire room was thick with darkness.

 

Dís did not cry at night again, that concern was finally relieved from Thorin’s shoulders. But almost a week had passed and Thráin was still in silence. Thorin checked on him every day in his room, but he would not speak or even look at him. On the seventh day, the routine was the same; Thorin talked to his father and the response was silence. Just as Thorin turned his back on him, Thráin suddenly shouted in rage, “This cannot be borne!” Thorin flinched and turned around swiftly as he watched his father repeat the same phrase in augmenting anger three times and then roar it in Khuzdul. Thráin sent messengers and birds to every Dwarf realm in Middle Earth, explaining what had happened to Thrór and the threat of Azog, and demanding that they rally together in the name of all Dwarves to wage war upon the orcs. Dwarves hated orcs more than anything and the gruesome and disrespectful death of Thrór was in excusable and an insult to all Dwarves, so none of them hesitated to heed their King’s call. In the course of three years, every Dwarf house conjured their own fierce and mighty army to attack the orc regions. In Ered Luin, every male Dwarf offered their services in the name of Thráin; they took part in rigorous training and crafted their own weapons and armour. The Dwarves who worked in Bree even took part in the training to become soldiers.

Thorin trained every day, on some days he trained for all the hours of daylight without a break. He challenged everyone he could get and won almost all duels; he wanted to be the best, as he knew that Azog would be extremely taller than him and that he would have to adopt some clever techniques to compensate. The only match he could not win was against Dwalin, the tallest and strongest Dwarf he knew.

“You’re not defending yourself, Thorin,” Dwalin commented.

Thorin had just had his shield knocked out of his hand, which is what caused him to lose, “I am, I was using a shield.”

“I don’t mean that,” Dwalin argued, “I mean you don’t stand your own ground, you let the recoil of my attack overcome you and that’s why you dropped your shield. You focus too much on the attack and not the defense.”

Thorin picked up his shield and put his sword back in it’s sheath, “I would not have to worry about defense if I killed my enemy first,” he grumbled, “Azog will be dead before he even makes his swing, he will not stand a chance against me.”

Dwalin crossed his arms and chuckled, “Aye, that was the attitude you had before we sparred.”

Thorin smirked, “I was not trying to kill you, that’s the difference,” he countered, “If I wanted to, I would have won.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, then looked at Thorin’s shield, “So, what would you do if you lost your shield?”

“I would pick it up.”

“What if it’s out of reach?”

“I would use something else, anything can be a shield.”

Dwalin laughed, “Oh really? I’d love to see you waving a stone around as your shield, or the handle of a broken axe.”

Thorin raised a brow, “Then what would _you_ do if you lost your shield?”

“I would use these buggers,” Dwalin answered with a grin, holding up his fists, which were armoured with metal knuckles that shielded the back of his hands.

Even Frerin had improved significantly in his training. It not only made him stronger, but it made him more mature. He wanted exactly what Thorin wanted, but he knew that Thorin was stronger and more skilled than him. But he was troubled with going to war, his first war, so he decided to stop by Thorin's room before heading to bed. Thorin's room in a slight disarray, Bergr had given him many different sets of armour to choose from and so he had placed all the sets on the floor and on his bed to visually compare them, but he was also testing them by poking the torso-plate of each set with his sword. Frerin stood and watched in confusion until Thorin realized he was in the room.

"What do you need, Frerin?"

Frerin took a step into the messy room, "I have a question."

"About what?"

"This war."

Thorin stopped what he was doing, put his sword down, and stood in front of his brother, "What about it?"

Frerin glanced down and sighed, "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid? Of course not," Thorin answered, furrowing his brows at him, "Why should I be?"

"No, it's just that I am," he murmured.

Thorin crossed his arms, "Frerin, I have seen you spar, you are a good fighter." Frerin turned away, "I know, but those orcs are going to be huge! What if I am not good enough?"

"They are big, but they are daft," Thorin argued, "You will be fine," he assured him with a sharp smile, "We'll be fighting side by side, I will watch over you."

Frerin smiled, then turned back to Thorin, "So why are you not afraid? Aren't you afraid of death like normal people?"

"I am not normal, I am a warrior. If I die, it will be for the good of our people, that is what I believe."

Frerin had visibly regained his confidence, he strolled around Thorin's room, looking down at every set of armour, "You're right, I shouldn't be afraid...which one of these are you choosing?" Thorin glared at all the armour, "I dislike them all, they are too bulky and heavy." Frerin cast Thorin a condescending glance, "You do know that they are _supposed_ to be like that," he commented bluntly. Thorin stared at the armour, thinking if there was any possibility of wearing something lighter. He suddenly came up with an idea and quickly left his room. Frerin peered out into the hall, watching Thorin dash down the hall, "You're welcome!" He shouted, then rolled his eyes.

Thorin went to Balin's room, which was just as messy as his own. It was filled with maps and plans for the numerous attacks. Thorin nearly stepped on a map when he entered, "Balin, are there any Mithril vests here?" Balin was sitting at his desk, he turned to Thorin with astonishment, "I would be surprised if there wasn't, why do you ask? Did you not like the armour I provided?" Thorin frowned, "They are quite unimpressive," he grumbled. Balin sighed, took out another piece of parchment and dabbed his feather in ink, "I will ask Bergr to find something for you," he said.

"Could you ask him to find two, if he can? I would like one to give to Frerin."

"I'll see what I can do, lad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Azog then proclaimed that he had killed Thrór and that he now ruled Moria as king. He had carved his name in runes onto the brow of Thrór, in turn forever branding his name into the hearts of the Dwarves. Nár was barred from retrieving the head of Thrór, and was struck with a small pouch of coins of little worth as a final gesture of scorn. Nár took the pouch and turned and fled. When he looked back, goblins had emerged from the Gate and were hacking apart the body and flinging the pieces to the ravens. When Nár returned to Dunland many weeks later, this was the tale that he brought before Thráin II who wept and cursed and tore his beard at hearing Nár's account, and then he fell silent in his grief. For seven days he sat in silence with little food or drink at hand. Finally on the seventh day, he stood up and declared, "This cannot be borne!" He sent out messengers in all directions to deliver the tale. From TA 2790 to TA 2793 the Longbeards, Durin's folk, responded by mustering their forces, calling upon the other houses of the Dwarves in every corner of the world, for the dishonor to the heir of the eldest of their race filled them with wrath.”
> 
> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there."
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 44 - 47 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 39 – 42 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 30 - 33  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799


	8. Chapter 8 - Exile and the War of Dwarves and Orcs (2770 – 2799)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 7 - The War of Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2793 to TA 2799)
> 
> *This chapter starts in 2794 in the introduction and then the actual battle that is depicted takes place in 2799  
> **This chapter is heavy with violence

The plan was for the armies of the other six kingdoms to seek out and wipe out every goblin realm that dwelled within the Misty Mountains, and would finish their assault at the northern realm, Mount Gundabad, and the southern realm Methedras. Once they had finished, armies of the House of Durin would attack the orcs in Khazad-dûm, as they had a very personal and deep grudge for their leader and a profound bond with those lands. It took five years for the tunnels and caverns to be wiped out of goblins and orc bands, but of course, not all could be found. It was the Blacklocks who informed Thráin that Azog was confirmed to be in Khazad-dûm. This finally gave Thráin the signal to commence the march to Moria.

Thráin and Thorin both led their army to the Misty Mountains, using the very path that they had used to travel to Ered Luin over thirty years ago. As Thorin passed Gwathló for a second time, he caught a fleeting glance of himself in the water. He remembered how his beard was first beginning to take shape; he looked at it now, it was full and thick. Bergr had been able to find a Mithril shirt for Thorin, but it was the only one. Thorin wanted Frerin to have one so badly that he offered to give his up, but Balin made the argument that he was of more importance than Frerin, and Frerin plainly refused Thorin’s offer when he had tried to give the vest to him secretly. Now everyone but Dwalin and Thorin wore complete armour. Dwalin was adamant on having as minimal armour as possible, he claimed he fought best without a hunk of metal clinging to his body. Thorin wore the Mithril vest under a sleeved tunic, it looked pitiful, but it would protect him; Mithril was the most impenetrable resource in Middle Earth, which is what the mines of Khazad-dûm were known for. Its depths ran strong with Mithril, which was what caused for the Balrog to awaken; the metal was so valuable and precious to Dwarves that they wanted to find as much of it as possible for the crafting of their own armour. Most of the soldiers wore helmets, once again excluding Dwalin and Thorin. Dwalin had recently styled a tall and thick mohican that was disagreeable with all types of helmets, but Thorin just had a strong dislike for wearing things on his head.

The army marched day and night until they reached the Gates of Moria. It was clear that Azog had been informed of the arrival of the armies of Durin, as his army of vile orcs stood on-guard before the Gates as a single front. According to the plan, the six armies were to have already attacked the goblin keeps at this moment, which would have stirred Azog and his forces. It was a couple hours after dawn when Thráin’s army arrived, the sun peered over the hills from the East, casting a golden and pure light above the ground and illuminating the soldiers of Durin. Thrain began the charge, crying, “ _Du-bekâr!_ ” In which the soldiers chimed, “ _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_ ” Once the orcs intercepted the Dwarves, the two races mingled in vicious vengeance and bloodshed. The Dwarves were impeccable and relentless in all forms of combat; once struck down, a Dwarf always stood back up and killed his attacker before his dying breath. Although the orcs were large and muscled, the Dwarves knew quite well how to deal with those larger than themselves. Yet Azog was said to be the largest of all orcs, the most vile and mighty of his ugly kin. Blood of both Dwarf and orc spilled across the land, and the cries of both echoed in all directions…but they were nonetheless looked on.

Thorin tried his best to stay next to his brother, but Frerin was swift and killed so many orcs so quickly that Thorin would finish off a single orc and Frerin would be in the sea of orcs and kin, almost undetectable. He was doing so well that Thorin wondered if it was worth it to keep watching for him. Something white caught his eye; to his right he saw Azog, a tall, heavy-built, pale orc. The closest thing he looked like was a skinned cat, most repulsive. Thorin watched as his father confronted the Pale Orc with his axe and Azog waded through the battle to meet him, swinging his mace at both Dwarf and orc to push them away from his path like brush in a dense forest. Azog swung his mace forcefully at Thráin, but Thrain’s shield was not enough to withstand the force and he had no time to recover before Azog swung again. The orc laughed as he beat his foe to the ground, Thorin even witnessed the mace strike his father’s eye. A flame rose deep within him, he couldn’t stand watching the one who killed his grandfather now beat his father to death, he charged at Azog just as he was about to deliver the final blow, stabbing Azog in the left torso. Azog roared in anger and pain and swung his mace at Thorin; Thorin intercepted with his shield, but just as he had experienced during his practice with Dwalin, his shield was knocked out of his hand and flung into the trenches where the dead were thrown into. Though this did not daunt Thorin, he remembered the vows he made to himself, Azog was not going to leave his sight alive whether he was alive or dying. Thorin let out a challenging snarl and attacked Azog furiously with his sword, every blow left a gash and made Azog even more enraged. He now stood in defense of his father, who laid on the ground groaning over his injuries. A break between slashes and stabs allowed Azog to swing at Thorin again; this time Thorin dodged, but he lost his balance and fell back over a small slope…foolish but rewarding. Thorin’s eyes caught a large oaken branch at his side, it was just large enough to shield his left arm. He heard Azog cry out something in Black Speech, the tongue of orcs and spawn of evil, then the roars and screeches of another army of orcs in the distance. Azog loomed over him at the top of the slope, growling, his crimson blood dripping from his pale body onto Thorin like rain. Just before the wounded commander jumped down, Thorin grabbed his new shield and rolled out of the way and stood back on his feet. The two began to duel again, but Azog was now fuelled by his pain and blocked every attack Thorin made, but Thorin also dodged and intercepted every blow Azog made using his oaken-shield. At this moment, Azog was covered in his own blood and it astounded Thorin that he had not yet collapsed from blood-loss, as he somewhat felt himself growing weary in strength from fighting for so long and he had no serious mark on him.

“ _M’imnu Durin!_ ”

Both Thorin and Azog looked up to the top of the slope. There stood a young Dwarf upon a boar mount, Thorin smirked as the light behind this Dwarf leaked to his face to reveal that he was his cousin, Dáin of the Iron Hills. Dáin’s commanded his boar forward, almost leaping on top of the Pale Orc, Dáin beheaded Azog with his axe just before his mount’s hooves touched the blood-stained ground. Thorin grew a smile, “Dáin!” His cousin threw off his helmet, revealing his fiery red hair. He roared at the departed head, “He killed my father!” Thorin looked at him in shock and glared at Azog’s body, “You’ve done it, Dáin, your father would be proud of you,” he said, approaching the head. He took out from beneath his vest the pouch of gold that Nár had showed him. He put the pouch inside of Azog’s mouth, as a true sign of revenge and disrespect towards the orcs. When Thorin climbed to the top of the slope with Azog’s head in his arm and held it above his head, the orcs shrank back in horror and fled, now leaderless and left to their mindless selves. Though many soldiers continued to kill the orcs, as their bloodlust had not ceased and still coursed in their veins. Dáin took the head from Thorin and stabbed it through a spear that was stuck in the ground. The Dwarves cried in victory and praised Dáin, calling him Ironfoot…but also Thorin, for if it was not for him, Azog would not have been so reduced to weakness that Dáin would have been able to kill him. Dáin was the only one who saw Thorin’s might with a mere oakenbranch and it was he who began the tale of Thorin Oakenshield, a tale that would spread both West and East to all the ears of the Free Peoples for many years to come.

Thorin helped his father seek the help of one of the apothecaries, Oin, who was not just an apothecary but a soldier who fought in the battle. Thrain lost his eye and his leg was severely wounded, but he was very proud of his son for defending him and for his great strength. Oin had noticed that Thorin’s collarbone was damaged from the final battle with Azog, but Thorin refused to have it tended to; he wanted all those who were more injured to be helped first and those with minor injuries, before he could even be considered for healing. Once he left Thráin with Oin, Thorin and Dáin scanned the battlefield for survivors. Seeing all the dead affected Thorin greatly, some of these Dwarves were fathers, grandfathers, sons, grandsons, tradesmen, farmers, blacksmiths, and Thorin even recognized the Dwarf who had taught the Exiled of Erebor how to craft boats, it was rumoured that he run his own shop in Bree not long after he settled in Dunland…but now his death left a stain on Thorin’s memory of him. He remembered, also, that the dead would find peace in their own halls that Mahal would grant them.

Suddenly, Thorin saw Dwalin running towards them. He was glad to see Dwalin alive, but not so surprised of it…until he noticed Dwalin’s expression. His face was riddled with worry and urgency as he shouted, “Thorin! Thorin!” Thorin frowned as Dáin and he met him, “What is it, Dwalin?”

“It’s Frerin…”

Thorin felt a stab of guilt and fear strike him in the heart, as if the dagger itself were real…he had forgotten about his own brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In TA 2793 when all was ready, the Dwarves attacked, sacking and assailing one by one all the goblin-holds of the Misty Mountains from Mount Gundabad in the north to the peak of Methedras in the south. Most of the war was fought underground, in the great mines and tunnels of the Misty Mountains, where Dwarves excel in combat, and as such they went unaided by the other Free Peoples, and they carried the advantage through their unmatched weapons and the fire of their anger as they hunted for Azog in every den under the mountains. Both sides were pitiless, and there was death and cruel deeds by dark and by light. This stage of the war was said to be so grim and bitter that few Dwarven veterans many years afterwards, ever recounted what took place beneath the mountains. The war reached its climax in TA 2799, when a final battle was fought in the valley outside the eastern gates of Moria, the Battle of Azanulbizar. The Dwarves finally won this notoriously bloody encounter when reinforcements arrived late on the scene from the Iron Hills. After the battle, Thráin II son of Thrór wanted to enter Moria and reclaim it, but the Dwarves not of Durin's folk refused, saying they had honored Durin's memory by fighting, and this was enough. The Dwarves feared Durin's Bane was still present and were reluctant to enter Moria while it still dwelt there.”
> 
> “Near the end of the battle, Azog was pursued to the Gates of Moria and killed by Dáin Ironfoot, who had just watched his father Náin die at Azog's hands. Afterward Azog's head, its mouth stuffed with the same coin-filled purse that he had flung at Nár after he had killed Thrór nine years before, was left impaled on a spike.”
> 
> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 44 - 47 (Mature)  
> Frerin’s age: 39 – 42 (Almost mature)  
> Dís’s age: 30 - 33  
> Thrór’s Death: TA 2790  
> Frerin’s Death: TA 2799  
> Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! = Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!  
> Du-bekâr! = To arms!  
> M’imnu Durin! = In Durin's name!  
> Dáin’s age = 32


	9. Frerin’s Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the War of Dwarves and Orcs (TA 2799)
> 
> *Major character death

Thorin and Dáin followed Dwalin quickly as he led them through more bodies. Thorin soon saw Balin knelt beside Frerin, who laid on the ground with a sword stuck through his lower chest. Thorin’s fear exploded into worry and made him almost dash to Frerin’s side, almost pushing Balin away, “Frerin?!”

Frerin looked up at Thorin, wincing and biting back his pain, only to give up and let out a nervous grunt, “Thorin…”

Thorin grabbed his brother by his arm, “You’re going to be fine, just stay still,” he said, trying to be as calm as possible. He looked over his shoulder and snapped at the other three, “Don’t just stand there! Get help!” Frerin moved his arm, forcing Thorin to turn back to him. Frerin shook his head, “I don’t think I’ll make it,” he said, giving his wound a wary glance. Tears brimmed Thorin’s eyes as guilt and shame took over him, “I shouldn’t have left you…I should have stayed with you. I broke my promise.” Frerin narrowed his eyes at his older brother, “I don’t care, I’m not afraid of death…not anymore. You said that if you die it will be for the good of our people; when I die, it will be for the good of our people…I would rather die before you, Thorin, you will be a great King for our people…I can’t be that, I can’t lead,” he said, then let out a cough. Thorin grew impatient and looked around to see if the three who had left were on their way back. Frerin grabbed Thorin’s collar and pulled him back to face him, “I’m not done yet!” Thorin wanted so badly to argue, but he did not want to upset Frerin if these were their final moments together. “I know I was a bugger to you, Thorin…but I was always jealous, I wanted to be just like you. It took me a long time to realize that you are who you are for a reason…all I want is for you to remember me and to live out your vow that you told me. I will watch you like you watched over me until you join me.” Thorin let his tears run, there were so many that they dripped from his untrimmed, blood-stained beard, “I love you, Frerin, you know I do…but I can’t let you die like this,” he said in a broken voice. Frerin grunted, “Then let me help.” He put his hand on the sword that was in him and pulled it out, causing him to bleed uncontrollably. Thorin instinctively tried to stop it, “No! Frerin!” But he had quickly passed, his eyes grew still and cold, and his breathing ceased.

Dwalin, Dáin, Balin, and Oin arrived to Thorin sobbing over Frerin’s body. It was a dreadful sight, as none of them had ever seen Thorin sob, or cry no less. The death of a brother was a terrible one, as most Dwarves had brothers and they both lived long lives together. The last thing Thorin ever wanted was to lose his brother, no matter how much of a pain he was. The moment Frerin died, something else also died in Thorin, he felt his heart harden and this hardness would be reflected in his expression ever since. Frerin wore a ring on his middle finger, which Thorin took and wore as a sign of remembrance.

When the news reached Thráin, he was enraged. He accused Thorin of neglecting his brother, which caused his death. Though a part of him agreed with this, Thorin also knew that he was not all at fault; if he had not stepped in, Thráin would have also died, and the war would have ended disastrously for all Dwarves. Thorin felt that he would not have been capable of handling his father’s title in such an instant and raw moment. Unlike his father’s death, Thráin was less affected by Frerin’s death. Though he wished to avenge him by taking over Moria, the land on which he had died on. But the six kingdoms refused, as rousing the Balrog inside those mines would be foolish and only cause unnecessary casualties on top of the devastating amount of causalities from all Houses during the war.

There was a large ceremony for all those who died during the War of Dwarves and Orcs, as it was named. Every House gathered in Ered Luin to mourn and remember their fallen. On this day, Thorin had decided that he would live outside of the Blue Mountains. He wanted to live closer to his work and away from royal duties; he wanted to live simply, be around those he befriended, while also plotting for an expedition to Erebor that now meant more to him than ever before. Thráin highly disapproved of Thorin’s decision, but Thorin bluntly and sternly argued with his father, before departing on his own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The war was very costly for the Dwarven race, as nearly half of their warriors had been killed. Náin son of Grór, Frerin second son of Thráin II, and Fundin son of Farin, the father of Balin, were among the more noted casualties. Thráin II himself lost an eye and was wounded in the leg, and Thorin was wounded when his shield broke and he had to use an oak branch to defend himself. This led to his by name, Oakenshield. Thráin wanted to pursue the Orcs into Moria but the other Dwarves refused, saying Thrór had been avenged. Dain saw Durin's Bane within Moria and said it could not be taken.”
> 
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thr%C3%B3r)
> 
> The War of Dwarves and Orcs lasted from TA 2793 to TA 2799.  
> Thorin’s age: 53  
> Frerin’s age: 48  
> Dís’s age: 39  
> Dáin’s age: 32


	10. Brief Solitude and Thráin’s Disappearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin briefly lives alone to avoid the growing grimness of his father. Vili is introduced.

Thorin now lived in a small stone house further east of Ered Luin and closer to Little Lhûn. He bought the house off the family of a soldier who had fought in Moria and died there, they were left with nothing and were forced to sell their home. Feeling pity for those of his kin, Thorin conspired with Balin to find the family a home in Ered Luin. The act of generosity would be against Thrain’s wishes, as only higher-status Dwarves lived in Ered Luin, but Thorin offered to personally protect the family both physically and financially…for in the eyes of the son, he saw his younger brother.

When not working, Thorin would often hunt in the woods nearby and invite his companions to his home. His companions were Dwalin, Balin, Gloin, Oin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, and Nori. Most times they would invite themselves, along with a barrel or two of ale which they would then drink until they were blind with drunkenness and the barrels were dry. Thorin did not drink often, unlike his kin, for he preferred finer drinks like red wine on nights where his grief overcame him. Occasionally they would bring instruments and play music when Thorin was particularly melancholy. One day, Dori and Nori brought their youngest brother, Ori, with them on their visit to Thorin. He had a soft spot for Dwarflings, so he spent most of the visit showing little Ori various things around his house that were safe for him to touch. He was once again asked about starting a family, the question bothered him deeply and his answer never changed.

Thorin never once went a day without thinking about his brother, without reliving his death and listening to his dying repents; The sorrow weighed heavy on him like stones and the guilt ate at his beard. Every night he continued to trim his beard, while remembering the first night he had started this ritual. He eventually braided two four-stranded braids on each side of his face in front of his ears, one for Thrór and another for Frerin.

One winter evening, Dwalin visited him, he looked distressed and ill in spirit. Thorin sat on an old rocker near a fire in a stone fireplace. As he watched Dwalin, he found his behaviour odd and finally asked his cousin why he was acting so distraught.

“Things are not the same without you around,” Dwalin muttered, “Your father has become unbearably angry and distant. He is upset that you left, and he is saying awful things about your reputation…I cannot stand it, all he speaks are lies.”

Thorin lit a pipe, which he had bought from a Dwarf tradesman in Bree, “He is in sorrow,” he murmured, putting the pipe in his mouth and puffing a harsh cloud of smoke that clouded the room subtly, “He is your King, you must put up with him.”

Dwalin glared at the floor and shook his head, “No… _you_ are my King, Thorin. Everyone knows how great you are when you lead us, it is all anyone talks about!”

Thorin puffed again and rose from his chair, “One day, not now,” he countered, “…how is my sister?”

Dwalin shrugged, “Don’t know. She does not leave her room.”

It affected Thorin to know that his sister was also suffering through his absence, but as the oldest male in the family, Thráin had the right to look over her and refrain her from going against his will. As Dwalin went to grab the fishing rods, which lay against a bare corner of the house, Thorin put his pipe away and took out his axe, which he kept behind his rocker, “Whatever I catch, you may keep. I would like you to have a feast on my behalf and I would like Dís to attend it.”

That day Thorin and Dwalin managed to catch three large fish. They used to ice-fish every winter back in the East with Dáin. Dáin and Dwalin both lacked patience, which Thorin had an abundance of…though he did get frustrated easily whenever he lost a fish. Now, ice-fishing was a skill for Thorin, as he knew exactly how to best lure a fish and how to keep the fish from returning to the water once reeled out. Because this river was close to the sea, there were more fish in this river than in the River Running in the East and the fish were far larger. Dwarves were not as found of fish as other races, but in winter big game were scarce and harder to hunt, especially when the snow piled up to a Dwarf’s belly.

Near the end of winter, Balin approached Thorin, saying that his father was strongly considering reclaiming Erebor. Though the idea was appealing to Thorin, even he knew that his father was in no condition to lead an army to Erebor, for he was altered by grief. Thorin asked Balin to keep track of the impending planning and to inform him of any developments. Balin did this by sending a different messenger every time. The plan took forty years to develop, but Thorin never believed his father to be ready to return to Erebor.

 

A couple years later, it was brought to Thorin’s attention that the family he had been supporting had recently been banished from Ered Luin by his father. The son, Vili, was caught stealing by the royal guard and was taken to Thráin for questioning. What had concerned Thráin the most was that Vili’s family were Stiffbeards. This was obvious by their golden and blonde hair, which Thorin had overlooked when he first met them. Thráin was suspicious by how a family from the Orocarni managed to slip away from the eyes of their own kin and settle in the land of the Longbeards. Vili, being nervous and submissive, told him that it was Thorin who had let them stay and assumed that if Thorin was alright with it that he would also permit it. Unlike their partners, the Ironfists, they were on good terms with the Longbeards, but Thráin’s descend into bitter burden clouded his judgement and made him unreasonable. When Thorin heard this, he was mildly upset at Vili for spoiling the secret to Thráin and jeopardizing his own family. When the family returned to him, Thorin decided that he would give up the very home that he bought from them. He had added various furs and new furnishings that Gloin and Dori had crafted for him as gifts on his birthday that he allowed the family to keep. But once he returned to Ered Luin, he would not be allowed to support them financially.

“What will we do, then?” Vili asked, he was a clever young Dwarf…but not all the time. His hair was blonde with many braids, he had a small, growing beard that matched his hair was was long enough to have two braids woven in. His eyes were blue, like his, but they were a shade of mischievous cleverness and immature curiosity...much like Frerin. He appeared to have taken charge of his family thus far.

“What is it that Stiffbeards excel in?” Thorin asked.

Vili walked to the window of the house that looked out to the river, “Fishing and hunting.”

Thorin did not need to elaborate, because Vili’s cleverness had finally kicked in and he decided to run a family-run vendor for furs and fish. But now Thorin had the dread of returning to his father’s command and immersing himself once again in the unfavourable and stressful royal affairs.

When Thorin returned, he was greeted by his father’s dark and disapproving face. It almost looked as if he had been inflicted with the Dragon Sickness, just as Thrór had. Thorin knew that his own grief made him bitter and stern, but it was not as severe as his father. He glared at him, which he had never done before, “Father,” he greeted insincerely.

“You’ve returned…how long has it been?”

“Three years.”

“Three years,” Thráin repeated in disgust.

“I came back for my kin, they say you are mad and that you speak ill of me. You banished a poor family from your lands based on nothing but your own suspicions.”

“They were living here unlawfully,” Thráin defended.

Thorin hardened his glare, “You are _ill_ , father,” he said in a raised tone, “You are changed,” he hissed.

Thráin rose from his throne and approached his son, he almost appeared hunched-over in posture, “Are you saying, lad, that I am not fit to rule? You let your own brother die, what does that say about _you_?” Thorin growled, “Do not drag him into this.” Thráin grabbed Thorin’s collar violently and roared, “ _You should have let me die!_ ” Thorin jerked his father’s grip off and turned away, “I will not speak of this matter anymore. I only wish to return to my former living quarters. I will not disturb you, just leave me be.” There was a long silence, before Thráin agreed. Thorin never understood why he never came to comfortable terms with his own father, but it was most likely because he had spent many of his younger years with his grandfather and that robbed him of the bond he was supposed to have with his father. He believed that if Thrór were alive at this moment, that he would have agreed with him.

 

 

Because Thorin had allowed Thráin’s plotting to precede, though he strongly felt against it, it meant that he was forced to hear his father speak of a plan that he also had conjured…but in a very different way. Thráin refused to allow Thorin to take part in the expedition, to Thorin’s relief, instead he picked Balin and Dwalin to join him and a group of about fifty. The two were just as wary as Thorin was about the whole operation but promised that they would do their best to guide his father in a safe and logical direction.

Thráin’s company was gone for months, leaving Thorin to be in charge of Ered Luin. Unfortunately, nothing required him to use his temporary power. But one day, Dís did approach him, which was most unusual.

“I would like to go to Bree today,” she requested, “I will not be long, I am meeting a friend.”

Thorin did notice that his sister had developed a circle of friends. Since she was of royalty, she was very popular and the Dwarf women all looked up to her because Dís was the first lady to be born of Durin royal blood. Her hair was as dark as his and almost as long, but she always kept a portion of it up and had four braids woven into it. She now had sideburns and a tuft of beard on her chin, which was most common in female Dwarves. Her friends often went out to practice swordsmanship in secret, according to Balin. Thorin had no issue with letting his sister visit a friend, so he permitted her to leave for the day. “You must return by sunset,” he added, however.

Dís sighed and rolled her eyes, “I know, I know, I am not a little Dwarfling anymore, Thorin!”

Thorin smirked at his irritated sister, before she stormed off in contempt.

The next day, after Dís did indeed return, Thráin’s company returned, with everyone but Thráin. This appeared all too familiar for Thorin, but according to Balin and Dwalin, what happened to Thráin was very different than what happened to Thrór. They had just reached the edge of Mirkwood when they had stopped and made camp for the night, the next morning Thráin had vanished without a trace. One member claimed that they remembered having a feeling of being watched on the way to Mirkwood, leaving Balin to wonder if they had been followed by orcs. Balin took charge and ordered everyone to search the land in no less than a fifty-mile radius…but after days of searching, there was no sign at all of Thráin.

“He is dead,” Balin concluded solemnly, “I am sorry, Thorin.”

Thorin stared in shock, as he slowly came to the realization that he was the only heir of the family left and that not just his grandfather, but his father had both been targets of orcs. He shook his head, “No, you did not find a body. He could still be alive,” he denied. Dwalin looked at him sadly, “We searched and searched,” he said, “He is nowhere, he is dead.” Thorin could not believe that his father was dead, not after the deaths of his grandfather and his brother, “If the orcs did take him, he must be in—”

“Thorin,” Balin interrupted, “It is over.”

“I-it can’t be,” Thorin objected under his breath, “I am not ready.”

Balin walked up to Thorin and placed his hands firmly on his shoulders, “You are readier than ever. I have always had the most faith in you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Many years later, Thráin grew older and he became restless. His desire to reclaim his kingdom of the Lonely Mountain grew. In TA 2841, he and a group of followers including Balin and Dwalin left their dwelling in the Blue Mountains and journeyed into Wilderland. They were pursued by the servants of Sauron and one morning, in the eaves of Mirkwood, his companions awoke to find that Thráin was missing. They searched in vain for him for days but he could not be found at all.”
> 
> Thorin’s age: 54 - 95  
> Dís’s age: 40 - 81  
> Vili’s age: 40 - 81  
> *I made the date of Ori's birth much earlier than it is insinuated by Tolkien


	11. King of Durin’s Folk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin ascends to the throne of Durin's Folk shortly after Thráin's disappearance (TA 2841)

Now that Thorin was to take the throne of the House of Durin, he was now put in charge of all Dwarves and all were to look up to him. Some would say that he was too young, being only ninety-five years old, but his rise to power was most unexpected and unplanned. In Ered Luin, there was great praise for Thorin, so much that there was a big ceremony for his coronation and ascension to the throne. Balin took the liberty of inviting the Kings and envoys of the six kingdoms to take part in the celebration.

As Thorin fitted himself into dark blue and silver attire in front of a tall looking-glass that stood in the room that used to be occupied by his father, Dwalin was most excited and enthusiastic for the event, “You’ve finally done it, Thorin! You are a King!”

Thorin smirked, “I’ve done nothing,” he argued, “I do not believe my father to be dead.”

Dwalin patted Thorin hard on the right shoulder, “Aye, but you’ll certainly do as our leader for now!”

Thorin looked at himself in the looking-glass, suddenly wondering if he would be accepted by the other Houses. Although he had enormous superiority over them, he wanted to make a good impression on them.

The Mountains’ halls were lit by torchlight, giving the resemblance of stars or fireflies in a midnight sky. Has Thorin entered the ceremonial hall, he looked at all the lights that hovered above him. It made him remember the hour of his birth, which many do not remember, where fireflies were dancing above him in the darkness of the room in which he was born. Their light was as golden as treasure and they twinkled like the largest and closest stars.

“I thought you would like them,” Balin said, coming up to Thorin’s side, “I remember the look on your face, the moment was almost divine. You should know that this is just the beginning, you will be ruling us for perhaps another hundred years!” The image enticed Thorin, everything he had learned and done had led up to this moment. He grew a smile under his beard and looked down at Balin, “I would like to thank you, Balin, for always being there for me.” Balin chuckled and shook his head, “Don’t get me worked up, lad! It is my honour; if you need anything at all—”

“I should be fine,” Thorin assured him proudly as he approached the group of Dwarf Kings. But their faces were harder than they were when he was younger, they almost looked at him in disgust…perhaps it was the darkness of the room. Without a word, they all bowed to Thorin and continued their way. This was a bad sign, he didn’t understand what he had done to make them so stern towards him. He did suspect that it could have been because of his trimmed beard, which was frowned upon in Dwarf Kings. An envoy of the Stiffbeards approached Thorin with sympathy, “They are angry with your father. They warned him about going to Erebor, going to Moria, and he did not listen. They are saying that he was mad with grief, is this true?”

Thorin frowned and sighed, “Yes.”

“Ah, you see now they believe madness runs in your family’s blood and they do not trust you.”

The last few words angered Thorin; although he was indeed altered by his own grief, he knew and vowed that he would never become mad like his father and grandfather, for he knew first-hand how it hurt the ones around them including himself. He conjured something as he went to the throne room for the coronation. The throne was made of stone, much like the one in Erebor, but it was not as grand, for it did not have any runes graved into it or a tall back; it was simplistic, because the Longbeards did not initially inhabit Ered Luin and they were the oldest and most superior out of the Dwarf Houses. There were three wooden –but extremely well-crafted— chairs surrounding the throne; three on the left and three on the right. The room was dark, with only seven candles lit in front of every seat. When Thorin entered, no Dwarf looked up to meet his eye from where they sat, the room was heavy with uncertainty and wariness that radiated from the six older Dwarves, but Thorin cut through this heaviness like a blade through ice with his air of confidence and assurance. He promptly approached the throne and sat on it as if he had always sat there…but this was his first time sitting on any throne; yet he was very close to sitting on Thrór’s throne when he was a little Dwarfling so young that his younger brother was not yet born.

He had left his room during the night when his parents were sleeping, climbing out of the exquisitely craven wooden crib he had been placed in and pushed the door open with all his young strength. He was just on the brink of walking at the time, so he alternated between crawling and walking until he reached his grandfather’s throne room, which he had entered before. The throne had acquired his innocent attention and was on his little mind ever since his mother carried him out of the room, much to his sadness and anger. Little Thorin had stumbled as soon as he entered Erebor’s throne room, but he rose again and ran on his two feet towards the enormous throne. It was tall and grand, and its stone was green with golden engravements. He did not stumble when he reached the stairs before the throne, for his feet suddenly learned that they could climb up stairs with just a slight lift from each leg. He however did fall front first against the seat, making him let out a giggle, as if the throne had caught him like the arms of his father or his mother when they were teaching him how to walk. The young prince tried to pull himself up to sit on the throne, but he did not yet have the strength to pull himself up. Quickly growing frustrated an impatient, he began to fuss and cry loudly. It was his fussing that alerted his parents to rip him off the throne.

When Thorin sat on the throne of Ered Luin, he felt the power that the throne withheld, but he did not let it cloud his conscience. Instead, he sat in silence with those he was supposed to lead; he was waiting for perhaps an impatient word or angry thought exploding from under the Ironfist or a shake of the head from the Stonefoot or Blacklock. At the same time, he was waiting for the crown of Durin’s Folk to be brought to him for the private coronation. Finally, after a prolonged silence in the darkness, Thorin rose and looked down at the six Kings.

“I know you doubt me, I would not say that I would not say the same if I were in your position. My father d—went missing— too soon after my grandfather’s passing, his mind and heart were corrupted and all of you fell victim to his madness…I understand. But as I stand before you, in this hour of darkness and doubt, I promise you that I am neither my grandfather nor my father. I am Thorin Oakenshield, and as long as I live and breathe our people shall live in freedom and happiness. We have lived too long in sorrow, in pain, and in grief; I now bring brighter days, even if I must sacrifice my own.”

The seated Kings looked up at the young, unappealing Dwarf Prince with fading disgust and hopeful eyes prominent against their long beards. Thorin knew what they found deterring, he took a step forward and clenched his fist.

“I trim my beard for _my people_. I am not worthy of a beard such as your’s, for I have not yet led my people to prosperity. As my people grow, so will my beard…but both take time, nurturing, and faith.”

The reactions did not change from the six, fuelling Thorin to give his final words.

“If you do not trust me, leave now.”

The Ironfist promptly left, much expected. But soon the Stonefoot followed, leaving the other four with Thorin, this was much unexpected. Not once had the Seven Kingdoms been divided in such a manner. Bergr shook his head, while Éldi sighed and looked at Thorin with sympathy, “Don’t trouble yourself, lad. They are the most reclusive of us after all.” The Firebeards and Broadbeams of course would not betray Thorin; the Stiffbeards were always in favour of peace and opportunity; and the Blacklocks were far too loyal to even consider departing from the rule of the greatest Dwarf House in Middle Earth. As soon as the two Kings left, Balin walked in with the crown presented in his hands on a red pillow. He looked at Thorin with concern, for he most likely saw the Ironfist and Stonefoot leave him.

“Is everything alright, lad?”

Thorin glanced down, feeling somewhat guilty.

Bergr smiled, “Everything is fine, Thorin was just weeding out the disloyal.”

Balin halted and looked at Thorin with shock. Thorin looked at him and shook his head, “No, no, they left on their own accord…I gave them the opportunity and they took it, I will not force them to return.” The older Dwarf sighed and continued, cuing Thorin to stand before the throne. The crown, unlike the crown of Erebor, was made of carven stone with a jewel on every round peak. There were seven peaks, one for each house; the crown was a symbol of the natural union of all houses, though Thorin had unintentionally broken the bond of the Seven, it was divine law that should the King of Dwarves require the presence of the Seven, that they must come or risk being outcasted by their kin and sent into banishment. Thorin kneeled before the crown and Balin held it above Thorin’s lowered head.

“I appoint you, Thorin Oakenshield, King of Ered Luin and King of Durin’s Folk,” he announced, with great pride and joy in his voice. He gently placed the crown on Thorin’s head, to which Thorin now felt the pressure of on his head and his mind. He rose and faced Balin, who gave him a big smile and shed a tear, “I did not think that I would live to see this day,” Balin said, his voice cracking, “I have yearned for this day in my dreams for so long.”

Thorin smiled back, “I will not disappoint you, Balin.”

The other four rose from their chairs and knelt to their new King. Éldi stood and approached Thorin, pulling out a scroll and unraveling it, “On behalf of myself, Bergr, and our people. We would like to name these halls after you, King Thorin. These halls were hallowed by my kin, but they deserve to bear your name.”

Thorin scanned the open scroll and looked at the Firebeard lord in surprise, “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

Éldi nodded, with a smile.

“Then I shall allow it, if it is your deepest desire.”

Éldi closed the scroll, “Then let it be known that these are _Thorin’s Halls!_ ”

Thorin could not understand why the Firebeards would give their halls to him, perhaps they did indeed have great faith and trust in him.

 

When he returned to the ceremonial hall, it was almost filled with people…all those of status, of course…and they cheered and cried his name in joy and praise. Thorin did not usually stand before a sea of people, so he quickly felt the heat of overwhelming anxiety heavy on his chest, but it soon was diminished by his growing liking for authority and his inherited confidence. Dwalin ran up to him and put a firm arm around his shoulders, “There is to be a feast and ball in your honour! You ought to join us!” Thorin shrank at the conventions of socializing, “I ought not to! You know how I do not like to be crowded!”

“They all wish to speak to you, Thorin! They want to hear the tale!”

Thorin rolled his eyes, “Dáin tells it the best, they will surely hear it when he visits. I will not be good company, tell them all this.”

Dwalin walked his royal cousin to a group of young Dwarf women, “They will like you now, they can overlook a short beard,” he said slyly. Thorin glanced at the women warily, but ultimately knew that they would not admire him for his person and instead admire him for his status and wealth. If none had turned up now, none would ever be permitted come near him now; he was now a King, an heir will come when he wished, but that time was not now. He finally jerked Dwalin off him and stormed off towards the front gates, “I wish to be alone!”

 

Thorin retreated to Little Lhûn, it was somewhere quiet, and it was one of the only few places where he had a positive moment with his younger brother. He sat on the river’s edge, the soles of his boots just resting on the surface of the river. The comfort of the dark blue evening and the soothing sound of the stream flowing smoothly yet swiftly passed him made him realize that among the greatness of power and swarms of people looking up to him, he still felt terribly alone; he had lost almost everyone in his close family, and Dís was now his sole responsibility and could not see her as someone who would support him emotionally; yet he still had his friends and distant cousins, but they would never understand his burden and sorrow…no one could…or could they? The light from inside the celebrating mountain oddly leaked into the night and onto the grass and trees; it was an eerie and haunting memory, as if Ered Luin was on fire just beyond his shoulder. The pines and trees around him were swaying in the night breeze, but in his mind, they were shaking vigorously and creaking as if they were screaming in pain. The cheer and song inside the mountain sounded to him as cries of terror and pain. All this finally made him close his eyes, he then began to tell himself that what he was hearing and seeing were just facades and fictitions of his own imagination. This quickly helped, and the calmness and serenity were returned. As he slowly opened his eyes, he felt normal again, and he wondered if he was able to do what his grandfather and father could not. He suddenly heard small steps drawing near, making him turn around to see Little Ori with a large piece of paper behind his back. The Dwarfling looked at him shyly and then at his tiny boots, “H-Hello Thorin,” he squeaked.

Thorin grew a smile and stood up to face Ori, “Hello Ori, what has you so far from your family?”

Ori pulled out his paper and held high above him, as high as his little arms could reach, “I draw!” He said excitingly, with a big smile behind the paper. The image was an impressively skilled drawing of Thorin with a crown and the mountains behind him, on his left arm there was a log, much like the one he had used in Moria. At the top right corner, his name and title were written in messy but legible runes. Thorin slowly and gently took the drawing, feeling a warmness in his troubled heart, “Well done, Ori, thank you.” He held the drawing in his left hand and scooped the Dwarfling up in his other arm, “Your mother and brothers will be quite worried.”

“But you are alone,” Ori squeaked again.

Thorin glanced down as he walked back to the entrance, “Sometimes adults need to be alone.”

Ori’s mother, along with Dori and Nori all hurried to the entrance to meet Thorin and Ori. Her face was pale with fear, “Oh Ori, how dare you leave my sight! I told you not to bother poor Thorin!” Thorin handed her son to her, “I do not mind. I always enjoy his company, expected or not.” Ori’s mother smiled and sighed, “You are such a good soul, Thorin. I’m so glad Durin has blessed you with the crown.”

Thorin smiled back almost bashfully, “I appreciate your kind words.”

“You must be so happy! I can just picture the look on Old Thrór’s face if he saw you right now!”

“…I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s age: 95  
> Dís’s age: 81  
> Vili’s age: 81


	12. Dís and Vili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts in TA 2858 and ends in TA 2859

Seventeen years had passed since Thorin took his father’s throne, and most Dwarves of Ered Luin would say that Thorin was the better King between both his father and grandfather. Thorin was caring to his own people, yet aggressive and assertive to those who offended his people. Over the years, this aggressiveness had turned him into a solemn and strict Dwarf in the eyes of his closest comrades, but they respected him and obeyed him nonetheless. Thorin’s reputation had grown so great that any Dwarf from Ered Luin was guaranteed work of some kind in Bree or Dunland. He spent most of his days on his throne, in his halls, facing whoever came to him. The House of Durin was finally in stable peace and prosperity.

Thorin had appointed Dwalin to be his invaluable commander of infantries, due to his impressive skills he had attained during his years in The Iron Hills. Dwalin was put in charge of training new soldiers to be just as mighty as himself, and one day perhaps the army of Ered Luin would be as great as that of The Iron Hills. Dwalin had recruited young Vili without Thorin’s knowledge, but often noticed that he was not present during a large portion of training and would return near the second half. One day, he was fed up and he brought this to Thorin’s attention.

“That young Stiffbeard concerns me, Thorin,” Dwalin grumbled to Thorin, who sat on his throne.

Thorin glanced up at him, “Vili?”

“Aye, the lad quits halfway through and returns at the end! Either he is not takin’ it seriously or…”

“Or what?”

“He could be a spy,” Dwalin muttered.

Thorin raised a brow, “A spy?” He said with disbelief, “Under who’s command?”

Dwalin stepped closer, “It must be the Ironfists.”

Thorin laid back in his throne, “The Ironfists may be doubtful, but they are daft. They would never send a spy,” he argued, “Perhaps you should follow Vili wherever he goes.”

“You mean… _I_ become a spy?”

A smirk grew from under Thorin’s beard before he gave him an approving nod.

Dwalin crossed his arms and thought with extreme consideration, “You ought to join me, Thorin. You need some fun.” Thorin frowned, “I _need_ to wait for the arrival of the elves of Lindon.”

“For what purpose?”

“They would like to know our exact produc—"

Dwalin grabbed Thorin by the scruff of the silver fur of his blue cloak to pull him up, “That does not sound too important, does it? Besides, they are elves, they are no greater than you, Thorin!”

 

Thorin stood behind a wall while Dwalin was with the trainees in the room on the other side. The plan was for Dwalin to wait until Vili left, before also leaving so that he and Thorin could follow him. Thorin certainly did not like loitering while waiting for Dwalin to meet him, he felt awkward and he constantly grumbled to himself about how he had managed to get to this uncomfortable situation. Finally, Vili left the room and quickly slipped by Thorin without noticing him. Thorin watched as Vili hurried down the hall, he knew there were some occupied rooms down that particular hall, but that hall also led to the mines of Ered Luin. Dwalin soon joined Thorin and the two followed Vili quietly. After passing a few rooms, Vili finally turned down into a room that Thorin thought was already taken by someone else.

“They moved, and I gave him that one,” Dwalin explained in a whisper.

Thorin led the way to the room slowly, staying close to the wall. He then stopped at the door, which was closed but not closed all the way. He turned to Dwalin, “You look,” he whispered.

“Me?! This was your idea!”

“You wanted to know what he was doing!”

Dwalin let out a huff and switched places with Thorin, he pushed the door slightly more open and peered inside. Thorin watched with anticipation, before Dwalin pulled back quickly and turned to him with panic, “He is with Dís!” Thorin frowned and looked at him with a mix of shock and disbelief. He pushed Dwalin aside and looked inside to see for himself. That blonde-haired Dwarf was kissing his sister! Thorin moved away quickly and growled at himself; he was supposed to look after his sister as if he were their father, and he knew that Thráin would never have let her give herself with a lowly Stiffbeard. The Stiffbeards were a clever and somewhat carefree House, for all he knew Vili was using his sister for his own benefit! Thorin glared at the entrance, “I will put an end to this,” he growled. Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder, “Really? You want to disrupt them right now? Dís will throw a fit!” Dís had indeed become a tyrant whenever she was upset, or things did not go her way, some Dwarf men almost feared her because she was not fearful of landing a fist on someone. But Thorin was the only one she had no control over, and she never dared to threaten him; despite this, she may be more protective of her sweetheart.

“What do you suppose I do? Continue to let them do this?”

“We wait until they come out.”

Thorin flashed a cringe of disgust and disagreement at Dwalin, but it was going to be better than having Dís throw a tantrum.

To Thorin’s horror, Dwalin and him had to wait quite awhile until Vili finally stepped out. They quickly blocked him and backed him back into the room. Thorin was the angriest of the two, he backed Vili straight up against the wall.

“How dare you have relations with my sister!”

Vili shrank back in response to Thorin’s anger, “W-We were going to—”

Dís pushed Thorin back and stood in front of her lover in defence, “You will not frighten him! I love him!”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at his enraged sister, “You know nothing about love,” he snarled.

“What do _you_ know about love?”

“More than you, apparently!” Thorin snapped, “I am supposed to protect you! And since father is gone I have every right to disapprove of this!”

“I don’t care! I don’t need you to protect me! I love him and that is all that matters!”

Dwalin closed in on the two, he hissed at Dís, “You made this worse by not tellin’ Thorin in the first place!”

Vili nervously raised a hand, “May I say something?”

“No,” Thorin spat. Dís perked up and smiled brightly, “Yes you may, my sweet.”

Vili stepped closer and looked up at Thorin submissively, “I really do not mean any harm, I swear to Mahal on it. I really wanted to tell you as soon as possible but Dís was afraid. I do love your sister…a-and I do understand why you want to protect her, so I would like to ask you formally if I may court your sister.”

Dwalin chuckled, “How cute is this?”

Thorin studied the young Dwarf, remembering how he took on the head of his family and was able to get his family into a stable way of living. To this day, their vendor still ran an it was bountiful with profit. He also remembered Vili’s extreme loyalty and reluctance for conflict involving his superiors. Although Thorin felt that Dís could do better in terms of status, he believed that if the two were truly in love then there was no denying them to be together. “I will allow it,” Thorin finally answered, “On one condition.”

Dís let out an immature groan.

“You both must sign a courting contract.”

Dís frowned, “A what?”

Dwalin glanced at Thorin, “Is that a real thing?”

“Of course not. You two will be subject to the first one ever,” Thorin answered with a smirk, “I shall go and have Balin write one right away,” he declared, before promptly leaving the room.

“Wait! Wait! Thorin, please wait!”

Thorin halted to the pleading of Vili and turned back to him, what a laugh it would be if he were to have second thoughts now, “What is it?” Vili approached him cautiously, “I do not _just_ wish to be courting your sister,” he started, “I wish to become her husband.” Thorin froze at the question, allowing Dís to marry would be giving away the last aspect of family Thorin had left to someone else. This reality disturbed him and upset him so much that his expression soured, and he grew aggressively defensive, “No, and if you ever dare to ask me that again I will see to it that you never lay eyes upon my sister again until the sun rises in the West,” he growled, before storming off.

 

Thorin entered Balin’s quarters, which was a small room cluttered with stacks of contracts, maps, and laws, all of which he had written himself. Balin was at his desk, as always, scribbling away with a raven feather pen. Balin’s beard and hair was now as grey as overcast clouds, though they would one day become as white as the clouds in a blue sky. Age had begun to take its toll on Balin, starting with subtle wrinkles under the eyes. Balin had naturally taken on the father figure for Thorin, he knew how he should behave and would often be open to listening to Thorin speak about his burdens…which barely happened these days, as Thorin became more and more reluctant to share his emotions at all.

“Balin,” Thorin said, declaring his presence in the room.

Balin looked over his shoulder, yet surprisingly didn’t stop his writing, “What do you need from me, lad?”

“I would like you to write a contract.”

“What sort of contract? I have some land deeds made up on a pile to my—”

“A courting contract.”

To this, Balin stopped what he was doing and turned around with excitement, “Who’s the lucky lady, Thorin?” Thorin rolled his eyes and approached him, “This is not for me, it is for Dís and her lover.”

“Ah, the young Vili.”

Thorin frowned, “How did you know before me?”

Balin chuckled, “They have been courting for years! You forget, laddie, I have the eyes of an eagle and the hearing of a hare. Nothing goes past me.” His dark eyes met Thorin and a sigh followed, “A courting contract does not exist, Thorin, that is what marriage is for.”

“I already told Vili that he is not permitted to marry Dís.”

Balin furrowed his brows, “What in Durin’s name for?!”

“…because _I_ said so.” The older Dwarf rose so that he could augment his dominance towards Thorin. His eyes studied him, trying to uncover everything Thorin tried to hold back. Thorin glanced away and moved away from the eyes of the wiser Dwarf, “I will not give her away,” he muttered, “She is all I have left.” Thorin’s voice had softened and weakened, which showed a weakness in his stoicness. Balin’s eyes became softer and more understanding, “I know, laddie.” He herded Thorin into his chair and loomed over him, “I know you are afraid. But your grandfather, father, and brother are all looking down at you right now and they are more than proud of you. You have given your grandfather’s people a new life of peace and they all adore you. This House _is_ your family, and as your family we are all here for you. Allowing your sister to marry will not be giving her away but introducing someone into your family.”

The logic was sound, which eased Thorin’s distress. He realized this fact he had overlooked and quickly left the room.

 

When Thorin returned to Vili’s room, Dwalin was still standing outside of it, “Thought you would come back,” he grumbled, “I made sure they wouldn’t leave. But Dís has been wailing nonstop—”

“It matters not,” Thorin said, much more content than he was earlier. He entered the room and stood in front of Dís and Vili who sat at the foot of Vili’s bed, both still clearly upset. Thorin held a smirk of confidence and pride as he beckoned Vili over. Vili was reluctant to leave his sweetheart’s side, but he slowly went over to Thorin. Thorin firmly took him to the other side of the room and whispered, “I have changed my mind, I will allow you to marry,” he said with a warm smile, “I would like to apologize for—”

Vili, in an outburst of joy, embraced Thorin tightly…which he was not overly thrilled of, “Thank you, Thorin, thank you!” He quickly released him and hurried back to Dís. He whispered some things to her and then suddenly dropped down to one knee and held her hand. Thorin witnessed a shocked and overwhelmed expression on his sister’s face that he had not seen before.

“…Dís, daughter of Thráin, Lady of the House of Durin, will you allow me to become your husband?”

Dís’ eyes met Thorin’s, they were filled with tears of happiness and she gave her older brother the most genuine smile he had ever seen. She then returned to Vili and nodded, before the two kissed and held each other. At the door, Thorin caught Dwalin peering in and swore that the light in the bedroom exposed a tear a Dwalin’s right eye. Thorin approached Dwalin and crossed his arms, “You are crying,” he said teasingly.

Dwalin quickly rubbed his eye roughly and grumbled, “I am not! There is soot in the air!”

 

The next year, Dís and Vili married. The event was very excessive; Dís invited everyone in the Mountain, including some other Dwarves from other lands; every hall was decorated floor-to-ceiling with the most gems and decor of pure white; and her dress was so extravagant that it took six women to hold onto her train as she walked down the aisle in the ceremony room. Because Thorin was her guardian, it was his responsibility to walk her down. Dís had even requested white rams and goats to be situated near the alter.

“When I said you could have whatever you wanted for your wedding, I did not expect any of this,” Thorin whispered, catching a quick disgusted glance at a goat that was trying to eat the white flowers near the alter.

Dís sighed and glanced up, “What did you expect? It’s a wedding!”

Thorin wanted so badly to roll his eyes, but now was not the moment to do so.

“When the reception is about to begin, I must speak with you,” Dís whispered.

“Of course,” he said. This made Thorin very wary throughout the rest of the wedding, he wondered what his sister was going to tell him. As Balin spoke as the barrister, Thorin’s mind was filled with thoughts and he did not pay attention to anything that was happening, for his concern was focused entirely on what was about to come.

 

Just as the reception begun, Dís almost dragged Thorin to an empty room while the guests filed out to feast and dance. She slammed the door behind them and leaned against it, “You may want to sit down,” she muttered. Thorin looked at her in shock, “I will stand,” he answered, his tone growing sterner. His sister sighed and looked down, her face showing guilt and shame, “Thorin…I am pregnant.” To this, a part of him wanted to sit down. Of all the scenarios he had mentally prepared himself for, this was certainly not one of them. Dís looked up at him waiting for him to answer, but at the same time growing more and more upset. Thorin crossed his arms, looked away, then brought his sternness back to his sister, “How long?” She finally cracked, “Two months,” she said, before putting her face in her hands. Thorin quickly knelt down in front of her and put his hands comfortingly and firmly on her shoulders, “Don’t be upset,” he said in a softer tone, “It was an accident, yes?” She put her hands down and nodded slowly, “Are you not angry with me?” Thorin could not answer this, for deep inside he was in fact happy for her and that the line of his fathers would continue even without his own efforts, “I don’t know,” he muttered, then narrowed his eyes at her, “I will be there for you and for them, should you need me,” he vowed, “You should be happy, for Durin has blessed you and Vili with a child. Also, it is your wedding day,” he added with a smile.

Dís smiled and wiped her tears, “You’re right,” she muttered, “I shouldn’t be crying on my wedding day,” she said with a short laugh.

Keeping his smile, Thorin rose, “Come, we shall announce this good news.”

“To everyone?” Dís asked warily, though Thorin knew that she adored being the center of attention.

“Of course, they are our people and our kin, they will be just as happy to know that you are with-child.”

Thorin brought Dís to the reception with some excitement in his step, the way he pushed through the closed doors silenced everyone in the room and gravitated their attention towards him, as they never had seen their King so enthusiastic. There were three large dining tables that impressively seated about fifty Dwarves on each end, all were filled with food and hungry, cantankerous Dwarves as they had been waiting for Thorin to show up, so they could eat. Thorin stood before the crowd with a proud smile, “I would like to make a special announcement on behalf of my sister and her husband,” he declared. This made the crowd murmur with intrigue and excitement. He flashed a glance to Dwalin, Gloin, Bombur; and Oin, Bifur, and Dori, “Lads, please help our newly-weds up onto the middle table.” The six Dwarves were concerned but did not question Thorin’s order. They herded and guided both Dís and Vili onto the table so that they stood next to each other, but not on any of the food. Dís whispered to Vili, which made him look at Thorin with shock, who slowly and almost elegantly approached the table with his hands behind his back.

“An heir to the throne has come,” he announced.

The sea of Dwarves gasped (or groaned because they still could not eat).

“The Line of Durin continues!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s age: 112  
> Dís’s age: 98  
> Vili’s age: 98  
> Fili’s birth: TA 2859  
> Kili’s birth: TA 2864


	13. Fili, Son of Vili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins in TA 2859 and ends in TA 2863

Thorin was not involved in his sister’s pregnancy in any way; he remembered quite well the temperament and strange behaviour that their mother had exhibited while she carried both Dís and Frerin. As pregnant Dwarf’s appetite was twice that of a pregnant human’s and they were much moodier and demanding to everyone around them. Thus, Thorin stayed as far away from Dís as possible and continued with his royal duties.

One day, Thorin was in the company of Bergr and his best craftsmen to discuss possible armour designs, since Ered Luin did not take on a symbol like Erebor had with it’s infamous ravens engraved into the gold and iron of it’s crown and armoury. The Iron Hills had chosen the Boar as its symbol, the very boar that Dáin (who since then had become the Lord of The Iron Hills) had ridden when he slayed Azog. Some in Ered Luin joked that the symbol of Ered Luin should be a large log, like the one Thorin had earned his title from. Thorin, on the other hand, thought that the symbol should derive from the history of Ered Luin, as the mountains themselves traced all the way back to the First Age and earlier. Bergr suggested a pearl that was given to the Lord of Belegost by the Sindar King Thingol called the _Nimphelos_ , which was given as much reverence as the Arkenstone of Erebor. Thorin harshly rejected the suggestion.

“I will not glorify any object that has ties to the Sindar,” he growled, “It should be recalled that it was King Thingol who had the Nauglamír that was given to y _our_ people and was so driven by greed for the Silmarils that he would not pay the Dwarves of Nogrod he had hired and, in doing so, it caused his own death and the death of _your_ people.” Thorin remembered when he read the tale during his studies in Erebor, he remembered the anger he had felt, but he did not believe that all elves were terrible then. It was when Thingol’s descendant, Thranduil, turned away from the suffering and sorrow of his people was when he finally felt an eternal and profound hatred for all elves. Thorin glared at the floor of his throne room as he recalled Thranduil’s rejection, “You must choose something—”

_“THORIN!”_

Everyone in the room, including Thorin, flinched to the monstrous roar of Dís’ cry and watched in dread as she stomped towards the throne. She was now at her last month of pregnancy.

“I’m hungry!”

Thorin rolled his eyes and gave Bergr a wave of dismissal. Once they were gone, Thorin glared at Dís, “Where is Vili?”

“He’s in Bree,” she answered in a sharp snap.

“Doing what?”

“Getting me a pie!”

“Then shouldn’t you wait—”

“I _can’t_ wait! I’m _pregnant_!”

He suddenly remembered that common sense and logic was something pregnant Dwarves lacked and correcting them only made things worse, “What would you have _me_ do?” He grumbled.

“Get me food, you grouch!”

To Thorin’s relief, Vili came running into the throne room carrying a full-sized pie. His face was in panic and exhaustion, leading Thorin to believe that Vili had ran all the way from Bree. The blonde Dwarf puffed and panted as he presented the pie to his wife, who was so grateful that she hugged him extremely tightly before snatching the pie and scurrying away. Thorin couldn’t help but find the younger Dwarf’s fatigue slightly amusing and grew a smirk as he looked at his brother-in-law, “You are tired already? Your child still has yet to come!” Vili cast him a sharper and harsh glance, which only amused Thorin more, as that look reminded him so much of his brother whenever he was irritated.

 

That night, Thorin was rudely awoken by the screeching and moans of pain of his sister, along with the shouting of Vili, Oin the apothecary, and his aids. There was no doubt that she was in labour, but there was also no doubt that he was not going to get any more sleep tonight. He contemplated whether he should be present during that moment, but Vili was there; as long as her husband was there, Dís did not need him anymore. However, there was an underlying fear that he had that he had not yet thought about until now. His mother had died during labour, that memory was the most unclear out of all his memories, but he did remember seeing her lying on her bed, motionless, while cradling her newborn daughter. Thráin was at her side, sobbing into her shoulder and weeping words in Khuzdul that Thorin had not yet understood at the time. The last moment of memory was seeing his father’s eyes meet his, they then turned to shock, and his father rushed over to block his view of his deceased mother. As Thorin recalled this repeatedly, he suddenly thought of Dís in their own mother’s lifeless position, and it was Vili by her side. What if this were to come true and Thorin did not have the chance to be with his sister? After forcing himself to blink, Thorin decided to leave his room and be in his sister’s company.

Thorin slowly and cautiously approached his sister’s room, which was not far from his own. The door was most likely wide open, as the torch light leaked into the hall, lighting it with almost a fiery and divine light. Yet the burden of drowsiness and cantankerousness still weighed on Thorin’s shoulders. Dís’ cries and groans varied in intensity, yet never diminished…until they stopped. Just as she stopped, Thorin felt his breath and heartbeat stop, but suspense kept him able. He had halted just beside the door and was now listening desperately for some sound of news. Soon, he heard the crying of a baby, much to his relief.

“It’s a boy!” Oin’s exclaimation echoed into the halls.

“He’s a perfect pebble,” Dís said, her voice seemingly to be full of joy and relief. Thorin rolled his eyes, however, for he knew that whenever Dís found something adorable she would call it a pebble. He hoped that she would not call her son a pebble for the rest of his life.

“He has my hair!” Vili added, “What are the odds of that?”

Everyone seemed to be happy, there was no sign of anything going wrong and Thorin felt that his presence was no completely necessary after all. He knew that he would be able to meet their son tomorrow, after going back to sleep, of course. Thorin had just turned away to return to his bed, when he suddenly felt a presence behind him.

“Thorin?”

He let out a sigh out of annoyance for himself and turned around to meet Vili.

“I was just going to see if you were awake, but I guess you are. Were you watching?”

“I was merely going to check on Dís, but it sounds like she is doing well. I did not intend on observing or eavesdropping—” Vili’s smile told him that he understood, cuing him to cease explaining himself. Vili stepped back into the light of the bedroom, “Come in, Thorin, you should meet the baby.” Thorin gave him a nod and followed him inside. Oin and his aids were cleaning up and clearing out of the room. Thorin knew Oin very well, for he was the only apothecary Erebor had for quite awhile and Oin knew all medicines and medical procedures that most Dwarves were not educated on. The only thing he could not heal, however, was his own deteriorating hearing. In a few decades, he once said, he would need an ear trumpet for the rest of his life. As Thorin walked past him, he whispered to him that he could take a few hours off tomorrow to rest up after this night’s turmoil.

Dís sat in her bed, cradling the little Dwarfling in her arms. As Vili guided Thorin around to Dís’ right side of the bed, she looked up at Thorin with pride and happiness, to which he reflected the sentiments back to her. The Dwarfling had blonde hair, just like his father’s, and just like those of the House of the Stiffbeards. It had been years since Thorin laid eyes on such a young child, and even his hardened exterior and burdened heart were no match for the pureness and adorable innocence of the child, his nephew.

“His name is Fili,” Vili introduced quietly.

Thorin smiled at Fili, “Very charming,” he complimented.

Dís sat up straighter, “Would you like to hold him?”

He glanced down, “No, I shouldn’t,” he answered, “I would not want to wake him.”

“He won’t wake up,” Dís assured him, handing Fili to him. Taken a little by surprise, Thorin took Fili and held him. His arms had surprisingly remembered how to properly hold a baby after carrying Dís during the early years of her life. Fili did not stir from his sleep as Thorin watched him. He vowed to himself that he would guard his sister’s son with his own life, then glanced at Dís and Vili, who both looked very exhausted and were preparing to sleep. When he set his eyes back on Fili, Fili was stirring and trying to open his eyes. Thorin had caught a glimpse of blue in both eyes before quickly returning Fili to Dís, “I told you that I would wake him,” he grumbled.

 

 

For the first few years of Fili’s life, Thorin only saw him occasionally, for he was more focused on a serious matter. A couple years earlier, Thorin had conjured a small group of scouts to scan the mountains north of Moria, for it was rumoured that some of the orcs from Moria that had survived and were gathering near the High Pass and even in Gundabad. If Gundabad were to return to it’s former might, Moria could be replenished with fresh, stronger orcs and they would most likely seek revenge on all Dwarves, particularly Thorin’s own kin. The day after Fili was born, these scouts had returned, fewer in number, and reported to Thorin that there were indeed orcs in the North and that they were ambushed by them. But most importantly, one scout had told Thorin that he caught one of the orcs mentioning Thráin’s name. This news gave Thorin more hope that his father was potentially still alive and that he could be retrieved, but he could not risk war. Thorin soon spent many months with Dwalin and Balin to come up with a safe and plausible plan to search for Thráin.

“Thorin, you cannot take the word of an orc, they are dim-witted,” Balin scolded him one winter’s night in the throne room.

Thorin gave him a dejected look.

Dwalin, on the other hand, argued, “Or that is what they want us to think. They could be smarter than we believe.”

“We must be sure,” Thorin mumbled, “In which case, they may know I will send soldiers to them.”

“Perhaps,” Dwalin said, “ _We_ should go, they will not expect us to show up and we will kick their arses in no time! We gather the best of us to fight alongside us, and we will clear out their dens before supper!”

Balin frowned at his brother, “We cannot risk Thorin being injured, and might I remind you that our best warriors are now growing older.”

“ _My_ warriors are a brawny bunch, you underestimate them, brother.”

Thorin looked at Dwalin, his idea was most interesting to him and he knew that his own drive to succeed would augment the chances for success, “I want a list of your best trainees, keep it to a bare minimum.”

“Aye,” Dwalin said, before leaving the throne room. Balin took his brother’s place, clearly unhappy with Thorin’s decision, “You want a handful of warriors to do the work of an army? Will this not result in casualty and war?” Thorin smirked, “You have so little faith, Balin. You would be surprised by what a small company can do.”

“ _Uncle! Uncle!_ ”

Thorin looked over Balin’s shoulder to see little Fili waddling quickly to the throne, carrying a book that was about as big as he was and blocked his face. Balin turned around to the Dwarfling, “Put that book down, lad!” Fili raised the book as high as he could so that it was above his head. He halted in front of Thorin and waved the book in his face, “Story!”

Thorin took the book from his nephew and set it on his lap, “You should be in bed, Fili, it is too far past your bedtime.”

Even though Fili was almost four years old, Dís had already taught him a good range of words and Fili was very good at pronouncing words, but he still could not yet read or write. He approached Thorin and tugged on his sleeve, “Not tired,” he said, then put his hand on the book, “Story!” Thorin moved the book off his lap, “I will not read to you at this hour,” he replied, more sternly than before. Fili plopped down on the floor and pouted, a tactic that Dís used to use, “I want story!”

Balin chuckled.

Thorin knew that if he upset Fili further that he would begin to cry and Dís would blame him for making him upset. So, he rose from his throne with the book in his hand, “Alright, I will read to you, but you must go to sleep afterwards, can you do that for me?” Fili smiled cheerfully and nodded. Thorin looked at the book Fili had chosen, it was an adapted and child-friendly version of The Sack of Erebor with a happy, but unrealistic ending where a lonely Dwarf warrior slays the dragon in it’s sleep, and the desolated land magically returns to the lush forest it once was. Thorin looked back at Fili, “Fili, I read this to you three nights past.”

Fili stood up and yanked the book back before embracing it, “Favourite.”

Thorin caught Balin leaving the room, before answering, “Why is this your favourite?”

Fili pointed to the illustrated Dwarf warrior on the cover, he had a long beard with golden armour and two large Dwarven knives, “Me,” he squeaked.

“You?”

“I kill dwagon!”

Thorin smiled and ruffled Fili’s golden hair, “One day perhaps.”

Fili was given Frerin’s bedroom, which hadn’t been touched since the day Frerin left it for the final time. Thorin often stopped outside of it to reflect and remember his brother, but now it was a more pleasant space. He sat in the chair that was placed beside Fili’s bed; usually Fili would sit on his bed, but tonight he climbed onto Thorin’s lap instead.

“ _’Once upon a time, there lay a great Kingdom under a great mountain surrounded by a sea of healthy, green woods. It was ruled by a King and Queen who had a son named Frár. Everyone was happy and there was enough gold and treasure for all the Kingdom’s peoples.’_ ”

“ _’Then one night, a dragon came down from the midnight sky and swooped down upon the mountain, breathing fire on everything in his sight. As a result, the trees came up in flames and the forest soon turned to desolate. The dragon flew into the mountain, kicking out all of the people inside, including the King, Queen, and Prince, and stealing the King’s crown. Now he was the King of this mountain!’_ ”

“ _’The dragon spent many decades sleeping in the mountain’s treasure, refusing to share it with anyone. Whenever someone came to the dragon to beg for money, he replied with a threatening grin, ‘I will not part with a single coin, now be gone before I slay you with my many swords!’_ ”

“ _’Meanwhile, the King had found a new home in another mountain, but he always dreamt about his piles of gold and yearned for the dragon to be killed and his Kingdom to be restored. When Frár grew up, be became the greatest warrior in all the land and his beard was long with the colour of vengeful fire. Clad in golden armour, he rode on a noble black bear steed to the dragon’s mountain—”_

Thorin heard soft snoring and put the book at the foot of the bed, Fili had fallen asleep. He sighed and slowly tried to scoop him up, so he could put him in his bed, but Fili stirred and lightly fought back, to Thorin’s astonishment. He ceased trying and let Fili be, but now he was stuck. Thorin didn’t want to sleep in this room, _this room_ of all other rooms! “Why am I here, Frerin?” Thorin muttered in irritancy, “I would much rather be in my own bed in my own room.”

 

The next morning, Thorin woke up to Dís looming over him.

“Thorin?”

Thorin sat up and looked down to see that Fili was gone, “Where is Fili?”

“Vili has him, were you reading to him again?”

He gave her a nod, then gave the book a glance, “He came to me last night, I did not want to upset him. He would not let me leave,” he muttered. Dís smiled, “He talks about you all the time. Dori and Dwalin tell him tales about you. He looks up to you and he wants to know more about Erebor.”

“Why do you not tell him?”

“I was too young, Thorin, I do not remember anything,” Dís sighed impatiently.

Thorin turned to her, “His father should be his role model, not me.”

“He is your nephew! Besides, Vili has just been placed in Dwalin’s elite unit and he wants to make a good impression on him by training day and night!”

Thorin frowned and stood up, “What?! When was this decided?”

Dís furrowed her brows, “Earlier this morning.”

Thorin stormed into his throne room, where Dwalin had a group of fully armoured soldiers, which included Vili. He grabbed Vili by one shoulder and moved him away from the group, “Not you,” he said, “You will stay here.” Dwalin approached him, “I know he was a little bastard before, but he has really proven himself—”

“I do not care, he is not going.”

Vili looked at Thorin, “I want to go! I want to fight alongside you! I will do whatever extra training is necessary—”

Thorin stepped closer to Vili, “In case you have forgotten, young Vili, you have a family,” he growled, “I will not allow you to risk your life.”

“I am risking my life for my Kingdom and for my family! You of all people should understand that!” Vili jerked to the other soldiers, “I’m sure that they have families too, how am I any different than them?” Thorin glanced at the other soldiers, then moved his eyes off them after feeling a stab of guilt. Vili looked up at him submissively, “I want to impress Fili,” he confessed, “I believe that if I go with you, he will look up to me.” Thorin glared at Dwalin accusingly, then gave Vili sympathetic eyes, “He is very young, he will soon look up to you,” he assured him. Vili shook his head, “You did not look up to your own father, what if Fili is the same?” This struck Thorin’s memories of his grandfather, making him realize that Vili could be right. He grew a smirk, “Alright, you may join us. You will in fact fight alongside Dwalin and me.” Vili smiled and embraced Thorin, even though he was in full armour. Thorin let out an uncomfortable grunt, cuing Vili to release him, “Sorry! Um…thank you very much, Thorin,” he said with a bow, “I will train extra hard!” Dwalin rolled his eyes, “Alright, lad, just get back in line!” Vili quickly returned to his place, as Dwalin turned to Thorin, “Are you sure about this?” Thorin glared at him, “You are the one who put him in your unit and told his son how great I am,” he grumbled.

“The lad wanted to know, you can’t say no to a Durin,” Dwalin defended, then turned to his soldiers to change the topic, “I like what you’ve done to the armour, Thorin.”

“It was Bergr’s choice, I merely approved it.”

The armour was made of blue steel to represent Ered Luin, and the animal symbol chosen was a ram to reflect both the relentlessness and natural strength of all Dwarves, but particularly Durin’s Folk. The helmets even had ram-like horns for head-butting and extra protection. In addition, the blue colour blended in with water and shady or dark areas.

“I’ll be teaching the lads how to ambush. The trick is teaching ‘em how to keep quiet for five bloody minutes,” Dwalin muttered.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at his brother-in-law, “Not Vili, keep him focused on combat.”

Suddenly, Fili came running into the throne room with one of the helmets on his head, letting out a child-roar. Vili turned around and grabbed Fili before he ran into the other soldiers, “Fili! Where did you get that? How did you get out of your room?”

“I follow!” Fili giggled.

Vili removed the helmet on Fili’s head. Thorin approached him and took it, before glancing at Vili, “He followed you to the armoury.” Vili scolded his son, “You cannot go in there, Fili! It is too dangerous for you!” Fili whimpered and began to cry in anger. Vili sighed and moved towards the entrance, “I’ll take you back to your mum,” he said. Thorin looked down at the helmet and glanced at Fili.

“Vili! We’re going to train!” Dwalin said.

Vili stopped and turned around, “Could I just take a moment to—”

Dwalin crossed his arms, “There is no time to waste, much has to be done and we do not have enough time!” Thorin thought, then begrudgingly offered, “I will take him.” Fili stopped crying and smiled at Thorin, “Uncle!” He pulled on his father’s beard-braids and pointed at Thorin, “Uncle! Uncle!” Thorin and Vili exchanged looks of regret, before Vili gave Fili to him. Fili instantly grabbed one of Thorin’s braids firmly. Thorin gently made Fili stop, “Fili, say goodbye to your father,” he ordered. Fili looked at Vili and reached out his arm towards him. Thorin knew this body language and stepped closer to Vili. Fili hugged his father, while still clinging to Thorin, “Bye bye dâd.”

Thorin felt that Fili had such a strong interest in weapons and being a warrior that now was a good opportunity to safely show him the very basics. He took him outside but stayed near the gates. It was late autumn, but the cold air felt that of an early winter. Because Dwarves were stout and heavier built than Men, even Dwarflings could withstand cold weather, but Fili still wore some hare fur to keep him comfortably warm. Thorin set Fili down so that he was in front of the gates and he not run off if his young mind had wanted to.

“You wish to be a warrior, do you?” Thorin asked.

Fili nodded.

“Then you must learn how to wield a sword and shield before you may learn anything else.”

Thorin picked up a short branch that had no sharp end and gave it to Fili, “This will be your sword,” he said. Fili frowned at the branch and tossed it on the ground, “Stick,” he argued. Thorin picked it up and gave it back to him, “I know it is a stick, but it will have to do.” Fili crossed his arms stubbornly. “Fili, if you use this stick correctly, I will get you a sword on Durin’s Day,” Thorin offered. Fili smiled and nodded, “Okay!”

“Now to start, put your left hand on the bottom and then your right hand on top of your right hand,” Thorin instructed. Fili tried, but he had done the opposite and Thorin had to help him.

“Now?” Fili asked.

“Now you swing.”

The Dwarfling swung so hard that he made himself stumble forward. Thorin smiled, “Very good, you just killed an orc.” Fili giggled and began to swing repeatedly in all directions. Thorin stepped back, “Not at me,” he warned him. Fili continued to swing, occasionally growling, “Die! Die!” As he practiced, Thorin searched for something to be a shield, but there were no logs around or any trees with bark that could be ripped off, so he decided to have Fili try practicing with two sticks instead. He found a stick of similar size to the one Fili was using and returned to him, “Fili, take this other stick.” Fili hurried over and took the stick, now both hands held a stick.

“Now that you have two swords, you can swing on both sides.”

 

After Thorin returned Fili to Dís, he went to Bifur and Bofur, the only toymakers he knew personally, to have them fashion a wooden sword and shield for Fili. Because Vili spent more time on his training, Thorin was given the responsibility of looking after Fili. He started with rune studies, instructing Fili to copy down the rune alphabet five hundred times until he knew his runes off by heart. However, Dís stopped the lessons after Fili had stolen an ink and feather from her desk and wrote runes all over his bedroom walls. Before Fili fell asleep, instead of reading stories, Thorin would tell him tales about Erebor from what he had remembered.

“Erebor was twice the size of Ered Luin, very spacious and vast. Its mines went as far down as the eyes could see, and the halls were filled with golden light,” Thorin began, “There were runes engraved on all the walls that told stories about our past so that we would never forget our achievements and who had wronged us. I knew every hall, every room, and every stone in Erebor.”

Fili listened intensely, visualizing the glory for himself and smiled at the image he imagined. Thorin also smiled, as his memory was so vivid it was if he were still in Erebor and the dragon did not exist at all.

“When I was your age, Mr. Dwalin and I would play hide and seek because there were so many halls and rooms one could hide in. My favourite hiding spot was behind your great-grandfather’s throne…I knew that Dwalin could not enter there without permission.”

Thorin’s smile died into a frown as he remembered his grandfather’s illness, how distant and cold he had become and his love for the bewitching Arkenstone had overcame his love for his own kin…but he did wish he were in the home he was raised in, his true home. Though Ered Luin was very good to him and his life was nothing but full of good fortune, he never truly felt at home and his power of status never gave him the feeling he thought he would have. He wondered what Erebor looked now that the dragon resided in it. Fili was staring at Thorin, realizing that he was upset, “Home?” Thorin blinked and looked at his nephew, forming a smile as to no longer show weakness towards him, “Yes, Fili, Erebor was my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Nimphelos was the greatest of the pearls that Thingol gave to the Dwarves of Belegost in payment for their service in the building of Menegroth. Pearls were especially valuable to the Dwarves as they were not fond of the sea and had no means of acquiring them except through trade. Nimphelos was said to have been the size of a dove's egg. It was originally given to Thingol by Círdan the shipwright. It was found by the Falathrim of the Isle of Balar.”  
> (Source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Nimphelos)  
> The events surrounding the Nauglamír are as it is told from The Silmarillion but through the perspective of the Dwarves (which, in my opinion, is the perspective that the event is told by in The Silmarillion)  
> Thorin’s age: 113  
> Dís’s age: 99  
> Vili’s age: 99  
> Fili’s birth: TA 2859  
> Fili's age: 4 (equivalent to a human less than 5 years old)  
> Kili’s birth: TA 2864  
> I’m debating whether to make Kili blonde like he is in The Hobbit novel or whether to make him brunette/black-haired as he is portrayed in the films.


	14. Kili, Son of Vili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in TA 2864
> 
> *Major character death

For Dwarflings, Durin’s Day was an exciting time of year. Because they were too young to understand or study Dwarven history, Durin’s Day to them was a day where their parents give them gifts. For those of Durin’s Folk, they were given more gifts from Dwarves outside of their close relatives. On Durin’s Day, Thorin presented Fili with the sword and shield that he commissioned Bifur and Bofur to craft. They were made of a sturdy wood and were sanded down so that they weapons were smooth and soft enough for a Dwarfling to handle. When Fili received them at dinner, he was explosive with joy and happiness and began to swing the sword around at the table. Dís stopped him sternly, “Not at the dinner table,” she hissed. Fili pouted and crossed his arms.

“All is ready, Thorin,” Dwalin said, as he gnawed on a turkey’s bone, “We are prepared to set out at sun-up.”

Though Dwalin’s voice was muffled by his eating, Thorin understood him and gave him a nod, “Very good.” He glanced at Vili, “How does it feel to be involved in your first mission?” Vili smiled, “I feel ready,” he said confidently, “I will not let you down, Thorin.” Dís put her hand on her husband’s arm and whispered to him, which Thorin highly disapproved of.

“Dís, if you have something to say, you best said it to everyone.”

Dís sighed and rolled her eyes at him, before standing up, “I have an announcement.”

Everyone at the table gave her their attention, except for Fili, who was busy carving runes into his sword’s blade and the inside of his shield with his dinner knife.

“I am with child again.”

Just then, Fili dropped his knife aggressively on his plate, causing a ruckus of clashing.

Dís snapped at her son quietly, “If you do not behave yourself, I will take you to your room!”

Fili frowned and picked up his knife again, only to stab his pate repeatedly, causing more commotion than before. Dís quickly grabbed him, making him angry and cry loudly. Thorin looked at Vili, “I am assuming you told Fili already,” he said. Vili’s face went red with embarrassment, “I didn’t know he was so upset about it.”

Dwalin dropped his clean turkey bone on his plate, “What do you expect, lad? No Dwarfling wants a sibling,” he muttered.

Thorin glanced at him, “I was fine with having a brother.”

Balin chuckled and wiped his beard with his cloth napkin, “No, you were not, laddie. You threw a royal fit! I’m not surprised Fili is acting the same!”

Vili laughed, along with Dwalin, only to receive an injurious glare from Thorin. Dís returned and sat back down in her chair, “I locked him in his room,” she told Vili. Thorin glanced at them, but it was Balin who said, “Perhaps to ought to talk to the lad, Vili.” The Stiffbeard nodded and quickly left the room. Balin rose from his chair and approached Thorin, “I took the liberty of mapping out our plan,” he said, laying out a map of the West on the table in front of Thorin. He had the path of the mission drawn out in red ink; it started from Ered Luin and split into two lines heading towards the High Pass and Gundabad. The objective was to clear out the High Pass and significantly reduce the number of orcs in Gundabad, if possible, while Thorin’s personal objective was to find any sign of his father.

“If everything goes according to plan, we will be done by tomorrow night.”

Just then, Vili ran into the room in a panic, “Fili is gone!”

Dís rose from her seat, “What?!”

“I went to his room and the door was open and he wasn’t inside!”

“But I locked the door!”

“Apparently not,” Thorin grumbled, rising from his chair, “I will tell the guards at the gates to—”

Two armoured guards stormed in behind Vili, “My liege! My liege!” Thorin frowned at them, inferring what they were about to tell him.

“Y-You see, he was dozing off—”

“ _We_ were dozing off!

“—w-we were dozing off, and then when we woke, the gates were open!”

“Someone opened the gates, my lord!”

Thorin growled at them, “Fools!”

Dís snarled at them, “I should have both your beards for this! You let my son get away!” The two guards cowered before Dís, who almost loomed over them with fuming rage. At her best, she was more frightening than Thorin.

Vili turned to Thorin, “We must find him! It is already dark!”

Thorin removed his crown and set it on the table, before giving him a nod.

 

The night was black, but because of the stars and the quarter moon, the land and mountains were given a blue shade that made it easier for both Vili and Thorin to see. Thorin scanned the land, assuming the Dwarfling had not gotten too far. Vili, on the other hand, was down on the ground, much to Thorin’s distaste.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for tracks.”

Thorin saw no advance in searching the ground for tracks in the dark, he stepped further into the night and called Fili’s name instead. Because there were no orcs or evil things in the West, Thorin was confident that his calls would not attract any unwanted beings.

“I found some!”

Thorin turned around to him, “Where do they lead?”

Vili stood up and pointed to the forest that lead to the west side of Ered Luin, “That way.” Thorin looked at the forest, he did not know it as much as he wanted, but it was much smaller to that of the Greenwood forest, “We will split up,” he declared, “The forest is small enough for just the two of us to cover. Does Fili know how to climb?”

“I don’t know, I thought you would have taught him.”

Thorin slyly gave him a glare, then made his way towards the forest, “Guess not,” he grumbled.

Thorin searched every tree in the forest, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword, which he had named Deathless after the War of Dwarves and Orcs. The forest was as silent as death, it made looking for Fili easier, but Thorin still remained cautious.

“Fili?” He whispered.

Leaves shifted and crackled to his left. Thorin turned to that direction and saw Fili’s head peering from behind a tree, his blonde hair almost white in the moon’s light. Thorin sighed in relief and quickly approached his nephew, “Thank Durin you are alright,” he said, “Come, your father is out here with me looking for you.”

Fili shook his head.

Thorin frowned, “You will come with me right now, Fili.”

Fili buried his head in his knees and shook his head again. Thorin knelt down in front of him, “I understand that it must be difficult for you, but I loved my brother.” Fili looked up at him, for neither his mother or his uncle had ever told him about Frerin. Thorin glanced down at Frerin’s ring, which he wore at all times, “We did not always get along, but I loved him, and I would have done anything to have him with us today,” he said quietly, before looking back at his nephew, “Your brother will always be with you; in the good and bad; in life and in death. You will have to look after him above all else and he will have to look up to you,” as Thorin spoke, he felt his most repressed emotions surface. To spare his nephew, he quickly stood up and turned away from him to fight back his tears. He eyes were fixed on his brother’s ring, and the memory of removing it from Frerin’s cold, lifeless hands haunted him once again. He soon felt Fili’s arms around his right leg and looked down at him in shock. Fili released his leg and came around to face Thorin.

“I want brother,” he said with young confidence and pride.

Thorin smiled and ruffled Fili’s golden hair. Suddenly, there was loud crashing coming from behind, the growl of a large animal. Thorin turned around to see a large brown bear trudging swiftly towards them. He looked down at Fili, who was peering from behind his fur coat, “Stay behind me,” he ordered. Fili did as he was told and stayed behind his uncle. Thorin drew Deathless and let out a protective growl, the bear quickened its pace and let out a roar as it charged towards Thorin, who stood his ground and prepared to attack first. Out of nowhere, Vili intercepted the bear, slashing it’s neck with his short sword. The bear growled in pain and tried to swat at Vili, but he was quicker and was able to dodge the bear’s attacks. Thorin watched with his gut itching for him to join in, but he could not leave Fili. Fili watched his father battle the bear in awe and gripped Thorin’s coat, cheering, “Go dâd! Go dâd!” This caught the bear’s attention but allowed Vili to finish it with a stab to the heart. The bear gave one last roar before it collapsed. Fili ran out from behind his uncle and embraced his father. Vili hugged his son and placed his short sword back in its holster.

“Are you alright, Fili?”

Fili nodded, “You kill bear!”

Vili smiled, “I did, didn’t I?”

The two pressed foreheads, making Thorin smile.

At sunrise the next day, all was ready. Dwalin’s warriors were already mounted on ponies, save Vili. He and Thorin were giving Dís parting words before they left, but Fili was not woken up to be present. He ran to his father and embraced him tightly.

“Don’t go, dâd,” he muttered into Vili’s armour.

Vili knelt down to get to his son’s eye level, “I’m going to help Uncle Thorin, I can’t let him down.”

Fili looked up at Thorin, then glanced down. Vili lifted Fili’s head up, “Promise me that you will look after your mum and your brother while I am gone, can you do that?” Fili looked at his mother, then back at his father, before nodding. Vili smiled and stood up, “Maybe I’ll bring something back for you!” Fili perked up and smiled back. Dís took Fili’s hand, “Let me take you back to bed,” she said, leading him out. Fili constantly looked back at his father, who kept his smile and waved to him playfully, “Bye Fili!” Fili giggled and waved back, “Bye, bye, dâd.”

Just as the company left, it began to snow.

 

Thorin gave Balin the lead, guiding the company of Dwarves north of Arnor. They made camp south of the Ettenmoors for the night, meaning that they would attack at dawn.

“That place was strange,” Vili said, as he sat by the fire.

Thorin sat against a tree nearby, “Bree has always been strange,” he grumbled.

Vili shook his head, “No, no, I mean that Hobbit place just east of Ered Luin.”

“It is called Hobbiton,” Balin spoke up.

Dwalin grumbled, “I don’t care what it is called, Vili is right, it is a strange and dandy place.”

Thorin glanced at him, “It is as if they are in league with elves. Did you see their ears?”

Vili turned to the two, “I hardly saw a single weapon! How could they be in league with elves?” Dwalin glanced at him, “They look like the type of folk who would turn down the need of a Dwarf.” Balin finally rose, “Now, now, lads, let us not make any assumptions! As all of you know very well, not much happens here in the West. You cannot blame some beings for enjoying peace and quiet!” There was truth to what Balin said, as Thorin knew quite well how comforting it sometimes felt to be away from the row of his comrades, how nice it felt to be around the small and simple things in life. But most Dwarf lords were not like him, for their focus was on coins and treasure and hardly ever on cheer and tranquility. Perhaps that was why Hobbiton seemed so peaceful.

 

Just before dawn, the split was made. Dwalin, Balin, and Vili went with Thorin to the High Pass, while the rest of the soldiers marched to Gundabad. Thorin watched them warily as they left his sight, then asked Dwalin, “Are you quite sure your men can perform without you leading them?” Dwalin smirked, “Trust me, Thorin, they could do this mission twofold in their sleep!” Thorin never doubted Dwalin’s word, so he did not question further.

It did not take Thorin’s group long to reach the High Pass, a small pathway between two mountains that was wide enough to shelter a number of creatures, but when they arrived they found that it was completely deserted. It had begun to snow more heavily than the day before, leaving no tracks or traces of orcs, except for a pile of sticks and carcasses that was still lightly smoking. Balin approached the pile and observed it. Thorin urged Dwalin and Vili to scan the area, before approaching Balin, “How long?”

“No more than three hours,” Balin answered.

“Could they have known we were coming?”

Balin shook his head, “Impossible. They could just be hunting.”

Thorin looked around, picking out large rocks and crevices, “Perhaps we can hide and wait for them to return.”

Suddenly, Vili let out a frightened shout. Stung with alarm, Thorin hurried towards Vili, “Vili? Are you alright?” Vili pointed to the ground with a shaky finger. Lying on the snow lay a lone finger. Thorin looked at it in shock and beckoned Balin. When Balin and Dwalin arrived, they had the same surprised look as Thorin. Because Balin was the only one with gloves, he picked up the finger and examined it, “This is so old and decomposed, I cannot tell what race this belongs to.”

There was then shrieking and snarled echoing from all around the clearing, but soon drew closer and louder. Orcs appeared in every direction, a couple were even riding wargs, which was very unusual. Thorin gave every orc and nasty glare, “This was a trap,” he growled.

The winter’s wind soon blew, kicking up the light snow on the ground and provoking more snowfall; soon, everyone vanished into a thick white-out. This was when the orcs attacked. At first glance, Thorin was alone, slashing and stabbing orcs as they appeared out of the white. However, he could hear Dwalin and Vili grunting and growling as they fought the orcs who came to them. The challenge was that orcs emerged unpredictably in all directions and Thorin had to constantly be alert and kill the first orc as fast as possible before another one appeared from a different direction. As a result, he found himself almost waving his sword around without rest. Fortunately, after a few moments, the snow cleared and he could see everyone and everything. There were about forty orcs at this moment, which was no problem for him and the others. He charged towards the orcs and performed his infamous spin, something he had developed himself as an effective and efficient manner of killing surrounding enemies. But something he had not prepared for were the wargs. They were larger than wolves and much more revolting, their snarls were hideous and their fangs were gruesomely threatening. Luckily, Thorin only had to face one, as he saw the other one dead on the ground with _Keeper_ stuck in it’s skull. The warg was commanded by its rider to charge towards Thorin, shoving and running over orcs along the way. Thorin stood his ground and struck the warg first with a slash across the head. The warg was not daunted and pounced on Thorin, pinning him down and snapping at his head. Thorin tried to fight back by lifting his sword-arm against the weight of the warg to stab it, but the warg added more weight to its paws, forcing Thorin to drop his sword.

“ _Thorin!_ ”

He lifted his head to see Vili storming towards the warg. The warg’s attention was drawn to the blonde Dwarf, releasing Thorin. The warg grabbed Vili with its huge jaws and tossed him to the rocky cliff wall, it then followed the path of Vili to finish him off. Thorin had seen this in horror and grabbed his sword to quickly enter the scene. As he approached Vili, he stabbed the warg’s rider and decapitated it, hoping that the warg would disband as its alliance with its rider was terminated. But warg did not react to the loss of its rider and turned back to Thorin with a snarl. He led the warg away from Vili, who laid motionless on the ground. The warg lunged, but Thorin dodged under it and stabbed it straight through its chest. The warg let out a raspy yelp before it died, a yelp loud enough to alert more enemies. Thorin pulled the sword out of the warg and ran to Vili’s side. His armour had been pierced but the warg’s fangs, but the fangs remained in the armour on the chest and stomach area. Where the fangs were, blood trickled into a pool of blood growing beside Vili. Thorin knelt beside him and tried to take the torso plate off of Vili, but Vili grunted and shouted in pain. Thorin released him and took his helmet off instead.

“Don’t move, Vili,” he said.

Balin and Dwalin joined them, frozen with shock.

Vili looked up at Thorin with tears of pain in his eyes, “My son…my sons.” Thorin felt his heart wretch and turned to Dwalin and Balin desperately, “We must carry him, we can help him back at our—“ Balin looked at Thorin with great sadness, “There is nothing we can do. We are too far from camp, he will die on the way.”

Thorin looked down at Vili with immense shame, “This was my fault, you should not have—“

Vili met Thorin’s eyes, “What? Saved your life?”

Completely torn and reliving his worst memory, Thorin broke down into tears, “To have you be with your sons, yes; to have me return to my brother, my father, and my grandfather, yes!” Vili’s tears fell, as Thorin’s words affected him, “Dís would have no one, she needs you; my sons need you, Thorin.”

Thorin shook his head, “No…I can’t…”

Vili turned his head to the warg, “You killed it, didn’t you?” Thorin glared at it, “I did.” Vili turned his head back to him and smiled, “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft with gratefulness, before grunting in pain. Thorin frowned, not understanding, “What do you mean?” He soon felt Balin’s hand on his shoulder, “He is saying that the beast could have mauled him, giving him an agonizing death…but you killed the beast, and now he will die a peaceful death.” The logic was sound, but Thorin was still affected by the fact that Vili would still die. Vili took Thorin’s hand, his hand growing weaker, “Thorin…I must ask of you something very important,” he said quietly. Thorin met his eyes.

“Be there for my sons, please. Tell them that I love them.”

Thorin looked down, struggling with the request. Being an uncle was one thing, a father figure was quite another. He only knew what he was taught by his grandfather, not his father. But he could not turn Vili down, for his chest was heavy with guilt for having caused his death and his mind constantly reminded him of Frerin; it was Vili’s dying wish, and Thorin could not reject it. He held Vili’s hand and smiled sadly, “I will; I will tell them everything about you, and I will look after them as if they were my own.”

Vili smiled again, as his last tears flowed, “Thank you, my King.”

 

Thorin and Dwalin carried Vili’s body back to the camp, leaving his armour behind to reduce his weight. But when they returned, the camp was still empty…except for a pile of armour. They had left the ponies further away from camp in case something like this had happened. Balin sighed, “Well, they found our camp, and I’m guessing that they killed our soldiers.” Thorin and Dwalin gently set Vili down, and Thorin looked back towards the mountains in frustration, “ _Kabâr ugrad_ _!_ ” He turned sharply to Dwalin, with fury in his expression, “I want you to take Vili and the ponies home, then send some soldiers over to help us retrieve the other bodies.”

“We cannot go there!” Balin argued, “Their numbers must be already massive!”

Thorin turned to him, “I cannot leave them behind.”

“Balin is right,” Dwalin said, “If they were capable of overtaking my men, then they must be some nasty bastards. It is best for us to return home.”

Thorin looked down in guilt and shame and approached Vili’s body to help Dwalin pick him up again. Balin followed him and stood beside him, “There is no dishonour in it, Thorin. It is clear that they gave up their lives to protect you.” Dwalin could tell that Thorin was obviously burdened, so he offered to take Vili to the ponies on his own. Balin stood in front of Thorin, who still stared at the ground, “Don’t be so hard on yourself, many die in the name of their King. Just think of everyone who gave up their lives in the Battle of Moria,” he said. Thorin glanced at Vili as Dwalin carried him away, “I am supposed to protect my kin, but I have failed repeatedly.”

“Frerin’s death was not your fault,” Balin retorted sternly, “Nor was your grandfather’s or your father’s. They died believing in you! What matters now is that you protect yourself so that they did not die in vain!”

Thorin glanced back at Balin, “How am I going to tell Fili that his father is dead?”

“The same way I told you.”

 

Thorin lagged behind as he, Dwalin, and Balin returned to Ered Luin. There was heaviness in his heart that never left him and there was only more burden added to his shoulders. They returned very early after four days of travelling, this was the most ideal hour because Fili would still be asleep and would not have to see his father’s body. Thorin went directly to Dís’ room, the door was closed, meaning that she was still sleeping. After staring at the door for more than a moment, emotionally preparing himself for however his sister would react to the news, he knocked on the door. Dís opened the door, smiling.

“Vi—oh. Where is Vili?”

Thorin swallowed, showing hesitation, “He is dead.”

Dís looked at him, furrowing her brows in disbelief, “What?!” She tried to push through him, “Where is he?!” She shouted, “I want to see him!” Thorin fought back and held her, “You can’t see him, you can’t see him like that,” he told her as calmly as he could. Dís broke down and collapsed into Thorin’s arms, sobbing against him, “Amrâlimê…amrâlimê…” she wept repeatedly. Thorin tried to help her not become too upset, but it was hard because Dís was very independent and did not need his emotional support anymore.

“Dís, you must tell Fili tomorrow.”

She shook her head and sniffed loudly. Thorin gently pulled her off him and looked in her teary eyes, “I know it is hard, but you must tell him, I will not be able to tell him like you can; you are his mother.” Dís looked down, “I-I can’t,” she muttered, “You tell him,” she added, before retreating back into her room and shutting the door. Thorin blinked in shock at the closed door. He suddenly sensed a presence and turned to his left, Fili’s bedroom door was open, and Fili was peering from inside it. Thorin’s heart sank, Fili no doubt had heard the conversation, or at least gathered from his mother’s behaviour that something was wrong. Fili suddenly slipped away, but Thorin followed him. Fili was sitting under his blankets, as Thorin saw a large lump on his bed. He closed the door and slowly approached the bed; every moment was agonizing for Thorin because he knew that Fili would be forever altered by this moment in his earliest years, “Fili, please come out,” he said, his voice almost desperate.

There was nothing but silence.

Thorin felt that he should not force Fili to speak to him, but he did want to help him as much as he could. He decided he would try again tomorrow and turned to leave the room. Just then, Fili came out from under the covers, sniffing.

“Uncle,” he whimpered.

Thorin turned to him and walked over to him.

“Is dâd gone?”

He hesitated, then shook his head, “No, he is not.” He sat beside his nephew and looked him in the eye, “Your father is always with you. He told me to tell you that he loves you.”

Fili did not seem affected by what Thorin said, as he was too young to understand. “I will look after you,” Thorin finally said, “I promised your father that I would be there for you and your brother. I know it is hard to understand, but—”

Fili hugged him tightly, burying his face into Thorin’s shirt.

 

Thorin tried his best to keep Fili from feeling sad, he would take him outside to train, hunt, or fish to keep Fili occupied. Fili enjoyed training most, as he always carried his wooden sword and shield with him and searched for things to practice attacking with. At age five, Fili had just begun to grow a bit of his father’s golden hair under his chin, he would soon grow to have the same facial hair as his father.

Meanwhile it was Dís who fell into a state of solemn and mourned in silence. There were some days where she would not leave her room at all, and she seldom spent time with her son. Therefore, Thorin had to take over teaching Fili how to read, write, and speak. Balin would often help, as it was he who helped teach Thorin when he was Fili’s age. In the spring, Balin finally gave Fili his favourite book to practice reading with.

“Dís has not seen Fili since Vili died,” he muttered to Balin, “Two weeks of mourning is fair, but to completely disregard her own son…” he grumbled.

Balin glanced at Fili as he tried to pronounce _mountain_ , “Fili looks just like Vili,” he commented, “Your sister is in a profound state of grief, she is not like you, Thorin. She has lost the love of her life and any resemblance to his existence is devastating to her. She needs time.” Thorin frowned, “What of her unborn son? Will she abandon him as well?”

“We will have to see,” Balin replied, “But you are doing quite well with Fili, he is happy and learning the skills he needs to have excellently. He reminds me much of you.”

 

One night, Thorin took Fili outside to sit by the forest. Fili was so tired that he had to hold Thorin’s hand until they stopped and sat at the bottom of a tree’s trunk.

“I want you to listen to the sounds you here,” Thorin instructed.

Fili looked up at him, “Why?”

“If you wish to lead people, fight against enemies, you must learn to communicate discreetly so that your enemies do not detect you prematurely,” he explained, “For instance, our soldiers know that when I make the sound of a raven, they know that it is me calling for them to retreat or report to me. Because there are no ravens here, I want you to choose any sound you hear and practice it.” Fili smiled with interest and listened eagerly for a sound, but the night was obviously quiet and there was not much sound. Soon, there was the sound of an owl echoing from above in the trees. Thorin looked up to listen, “That is a barn owl,” he whispered, “It is rare to hear them in these parts,” he commented quietly. “I like it,” Fili said.

“Listen to it for awhile, then we will return home and you may practice before you go to bed.”

Fili listened to the barn owl’s hoots for a while. Sometimes the hoots would be louder, meaning that the owl was close by, but then they would be fainter, indicating that it had moved away. Fili finally stood up confidently, “Ready!” The owl suddenly flew up into the air, startled by Fili’s outburst.

Soon, Thorin realized he had made a grave mistake when he could hear Fili hooting all night in different tones and rhythms from his bedroom, causing both of them to not get any sleep.

 

When the time finally came for Dís to have her second son, Fili was very excited as he remembered all the great aspects of having a younger brother. Thorin and Fili waited outside Dís’ room until they were allowed in the room. Fili ran right up to his mother’s side and stared at the crying baby. As Thorin entered the room, he froze at first sight of the baby, for he had the same dark shade of hair as Frerin. Dís held the baby lovingly and stared at him with the same joy she had had when she held Fili for the first time. It had been very long since had shown any sign of happiness Dís and to she her so filled with happiness that it was contagious enough to make Thorin happy, even moreso than her, because he had severe concern for her since she had fallen into her mourning state. After recovering from the shock of first seeing the baby, Thorin moved closer to observe him more.

“His name is Kili,” Dís said, “Vili wanted to name him that.”

Fili smiled at his little brother, “Kili,” he repeated, trying the name for himself. He reached out to touch Kili’s tiny hand, which surprisingly opened and held Fili’s hand back in response.

“I’m gonna look after you, brother,” Fili said proudly.

Thorin could not help but think of himself when Fili said those words. Not long after Frerin was born, he had snuck into his bedroom and climbed up to the top rail of Frerin’s crib to tell him boastfully how he was going to protect him and that when he became King he vowed to have Frerin by his side by their grandfather’s throne in Erebor. But all these things he had promised could not happen, which upset him. He looked down at his brother’s ring and felt the guilt on his chest like heavy, bulging armour. The only thing Thorin could do now was restore his promises that he had made to his brother and apply them to his nephews; on his life, he would care and guard his nephews with body and heart, and when he reclaimed Erebor, they would be at his sides on the throne as the heirs to the throne of the Lonely Mountain, and the throne of all Dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think after this chapter I will post various smaller chapters of Thorin teaching or spending time with Fili and Kili as they grow up. Or I might just post those as separate works and continue with this sort of timeline plot here so that it's not too repetitive.
> 
> Thorin’s age: 118  
> Dís’s age: 104  
> Vili’s age: 104  
> Fili’s birth: TA 2859  
> Kili’s birth: TA 2864  
> Kabâr ugrad = cowardly beasts  
> Amrâlimê = my love
> 
> I got a new laptop that has a completely different keyboard and I'm too lazy to check this word-per-word, so if there are any typos I would truly appreciate it if you would let me know ;)


	15. Becoming Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TA 2869

Thorin’s relationship with Kili was complicated at the beginning. Because Kili’s father was not around, Dís was concerned that if Thorin had been involved in Kili’s first few years that he would become confused and think that Thorin was his father. The idea was no entirely illogical to Thorin, so he agreed to keep his distance from Kili and only see him occasionally, most times it was during dinner. In the meantime, Thorin spent most of his time teaching Fili how to develop his combat skills so that they could soon go hunting together. Thorin could already clearly see a difference between both his nephews. Whenever Thorin held Kili, Kili would pull extremely hard at both his braids and grip his beard, yanking at it while giggling, and one time when Thorin tried to reprimand him, Kili cried until his mother came and take him away.

“Thorin, what did you do this time?!” Dís sighed, cradling her youngest son. Kili quickly settled in her arms with a very familiar grin on his face.

Thorin frowned at the child, “He was pulling at me,” he grumbled, “All I did was tell him to stop.”

Dís rolled her eyes, “You scared him, that’s what you did.”

At dinner, Kili often played with his food, throwing them across the table and aiming at Dwalin’s bald head. The shocking part was that Dís never punished him or made an effort to stop Kili’s behaviour. Thorin and Dwalin were both repressing their frustration towards Kili, because they knew that Dís would find them at fault somehow and nothing would ever change. Fili was the only one who could get Kili to behave, he would put Kili’s hands down and warn him that he didn’t want to make _“Uncle Thorin”_ upset with him. Balin found Kili’s behaviour amusing, always chuckling and laughing along with Kili’s acts.

“Do you not see it Thorin?” Balin asked one night, after Kili had thrown a spoonful of sauce at Dwalin’s face, causing the dinner to end abruptly and prematurely.

Thorin glared at the mischievous Dwarfling as he was carried out by his mother, “I do, he is out of hand.”

Balin shook his head, “No, laddie, he is just like your brother.” Thorin sighed and looked away, “Frerin was not my problem,” he muttered.

“Kili is now your problem, it is up to you to straighten him out.”

Thorin rose from his chair, glancing at him, “How? Dís still will not let me near him and he will only listen to her,” he retorted. Balin looked up at him sternly, “He needs a father, you must be that for him in order for him to behave.” He also rose from his chair, taking out a scroll from inside his wine-red coat, “I meant to tell you this during dinner, the Six have agreed to come here to take part in Durin’s Day and the anniversary. Of course, the Ironfists were most reluctant to come, but I think you should take this opportunity to remind them how much superiority you have over them.”

“I will not force them to like me, Balin,” Thorin argued, “As long as they remember that when I call upon them it is their obligation to answer.”

 

Shortly after the unsatisfying supper, Thorin held a brief meeting with the advisors of Bergr and Éldi and Balin to discuss plans for the gathering of the all the Dwarf Kingdoms, which had not happened since his ascension to the throne. Although Thorin did not want to force anything upon the two lords who opposed him, he did want to make a good impression on them in the hopes that they would change their view of him. The only way to bribe the Ironfists was to offer them a generous amount of gold and silver, and then the Stonefoots would most likely follow however the Ironfists acted next. The main purpose of this event was to celebrate Durin’s Day, and the hundredth-year anniversary of the War of Dwarves and Orcs.

“I want this mountain filled with cheer and song,” Thorin said, as he read the responses of the Six Kingdoms on the scroll Balin had given him, “The gates shall be open to all Dwarves, as this shall be a celebration for all Dwarves,” he declared. Balin and the advisors began to write down vigorously their ideas as Thorin’s eyes met the last message on the scroll, “Good, Dain will be coming. Be sure to put some extra barrels of ale for him and his crew, and clear a stall out for his—”

_“Ow! It’s mine!”_

_“No! No! No!”_

_“Give it back!”_

_“No!”_

Thorin put the scroll down and looked at the entrance of his halls to see Fili and Kili wrestling outside the doors. Kili had Fili’s wooden sword in his hand and was trying to hit him with it. This alarmed Thorin, making him rise from his throne and storm past Balin to confront his brawling nephews, “Enough! Both of you!” Fili moved away, looking up at his uncle submissively, while Kili continued to try and hit him. Thorin took Fili’s sword away from Kili, making him pout and cross his arms.

“What is going on?” Thorin demanded, “It is late and you both should be in bed.”

Fili pointed at Kili accusingly, “Kili took my sword and wouldn’t give it back!”

Kili pointed at Fili’s sword, “Mine!”

“No, it is not your’s,” Thorin argued, “You will not take your brother’s things and you will not disturb my meetings, do you both understand?” Fili nodded, Kili put his fingers against his lips before nodding.

“How is it that you two keep escaping your bedroom when the door is locked?”

Fili and Kili glanced at each other nervously, before both looking up at Thorin, “There is a key,” Fili answered, “It’s made of wood, like someone carved it. It’s been in there for as long as I can remember.” Thorin furrowed his brows, as he never remembered seeing a wooden key in Frerin’s room, nor did he think of a reason why Frerin would need to have one. Most likely it was for some ridiculous reason that Thorin would not have understood if he had asked Frerin about it. “I want you to give that key to me tomorrow before we go hunting, I don’t want you two leaving your bedroom like that anymore.”

Kili soon had his entire hand in his mouth, but he somehow managed to ask, “Why?”

Thorin put Fili’s sword under his belt, “Because it’s not safe for you two to be just running around the mountain alone.”

“Why?”

Fili crossed his arms, “Yeah, why? I can protect us!”

Thorin decided to have some fun and come up with something that would not only help his argument, but entertain himself as well, “If I tell you, you must not repeat it to anyone,” he whispered. Fili and Kili gazed up at him and nodded as he began to explain, “There is a ghost that roams these halls late at night, I have seen him myself. His face his pale and his beard are long and white. He carries a long sickle, for he used to be a farmer, but little Dwarflings like you used to play in his fields and destroy his hard-earned crops. When he died, he vowed to seek revenge on all Dwarflings, and now he is in these halls because he knows that there are Dwarflings who like to stay awake at night, just like you two.”

Both brothers’ faces when pale with fear. Kili began to tear up and quiver with distress. Fili grabbed his brother’s hand tightly and stepped back, “Come on, Kili! Let’s hurry!” The two ran off, shouting as they ran. Thorin smirked proudly and laughed to himself, before returning back to his throne room. Balin and the advisors were snickering and chuckling as Thorin returned.

“I ought to try that on my daughter,” the Firebeard advisor said, “That’ll keep her down!”

Thorin still held his prideful smirk, “Is that all, lads?”

“You bet,” the Firebeard answered.

“We’ll make this event grand for you, Thorin,” Balin assured him.

 

Thorin returned to his room, the halls were blissfully tranquil, which he had the privilege to thank himself for. As soon as he entered his room, he closed the door and removed his crown. There was a pedestal with dark blue velvet that was meant for his crown, but he liked to put his fur cloak on top of the pedestal before setting the crown on top. Just as he settled into bed, the door flung open and both Fili and Kili ran into the room screaming, slamming the door shut frantically. They jumped onto Thorin’s bed and hid under the covers, trembling and crying.

“Is it gone?!” Fili cried.

Thorin frowned at the nonsense and took the covers off to reveal his cowering nephews, “Why are you not in your bedroom?”

“We couldn’t sleep,” Fili answered.

Kili, who had his face in his knees, mumbled, “Noises.”

Fili looked up at Thorin, “We came here because we knew you’d protect us.”

Thorin sighed, “I can assure you that the ghost cannot enter your room,” he said. Kili crawled onto Thorin’s chest and gripped his beard in frustration, “No! I saw!” Fili jumped off the bed and grabbed Thorin by his wrist, “Uncle, you have to see! Kili said he saw it!” Thorin was trying to pull Kili off his face, but his efforts were futile, so he had to succumb and let the brothers take him to their room. They hid behind his legs as he approached their open bedroom door, Kili was clinging to Thorin’s boot and sniffing. Fili peered out from behind and looked up at Thorin, who had just pushed the door open all the way, “Are you scared, Uncle?” Thorin glanced down at him, “Of course not,” he grumbled. He stepped into the room, it was dark and quiet; nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

“There’s a sound,” Fili whispered.

“What kind of sound?” Thorin asked.

There was suddenly a loud, deep and low sound that seemed to come from the bed-side of the bedroom. It was prolonged, before it died away. Fili and Kili screamed and held Thorin’s boots tightly. Thorin studied the area the sound came from, as it strangely sounded familiar to him. Kili suddenly tugged on Thorin’s shirt and pointed to the corner of the room beside the bed, “There! There! There!” Thorin saw a shadow that looked to be a figure of a person facing squarely at him, but as he moved closer, he soon saw that it was just a decorative vase standing on a small chest. He grew a smirk and looked down at Fili and Kili, “It is just a vase, there is no one there,” he explained. Fili looked at the shadow and slowly released Thorin to get closer to it, realizing that Thorin was right, he started to giggle, “Kili! Come look!” Kili shook his head and stayed behind Thorin. Thorin picked him up and took him to the vase, “Look, Kili, there is nothing to be afraid of,” he said calmly. Kili looked at the vase warily, then touched it with his tiny hand, he began to hit it with his hand, he soon giggled with Fili.

The sound suddenly came back, making Fili retreat back to Thorin. This time when Thorin heard the sound again, he knew exactly what it was. He remembered that Dís’ room was next door, but what he also remembered was that Dís was an incredibly loud and horrible snorer; she snored like an elderly male Dwarf, or a large bear, which was no doubtingly terrifying for two Dwarflings. Thorin’s smirk grew, “Boys, that is your mother,” he said. Fili went to the wall and pressed his ear against it, listening to the sound again, before giggling. Thorin set Kili on the bed, “Can you two go to bed now?” Fili nodded, but Kili tugged on Thorin’s shirt sleeve, “Tuck.”

Fili and Kili climbed into their bed, but Thorin had to tuck them in. He started with Fili, because he had to remind him that they were going to train early the next morning with life-sized targets.

“Can I bring my sword?” Fili asked excitingly, “You said that I’m really good!”

Thorin smiled, “I did say that, didn’t I? But you cannot deal any damage with your wooden sword.”

Fili looked at him with puzzlement, “What does that mean?”

“That means that I have something very special for you tomorrow,” Thorin replied. He kissed his forehead, “Goodnight, Fili.”

“Goodnight, Uncle.”

Thorin went to Kili next, Kili had been watching him speak to Fili and looked up at him with sadness when it was his turn to be tucked in, “I wanna go,” Kili muttered, gripping the covers. Thorin looked at him and saw his own brother, who would have often watched him and his grandfather in despair as he was left out of more important lessons, “If your mother would let me, I would let you come with us, but you are too young, and you have no knowledge in fighting.” Kili looked down and covered the blanket over his nose. Thorin felt sympathy for him and smiled, “Perhaps when we return, I can teach you how to use Fili’s sword, would you like that?” Kili’s eyes lit up with joy before he nodded. Thorin kissed the top of his head, “Goodnight, Kili.”

Kili giggled, “Uncle Thorin.”

 

The next morning, before they left, Thorin gave Fili a real Dwarven knife, “There are two of these, I am giving you one now, and if you can prove that you can handle it well then you may have the other,” Thorin explained. Fili smiled brightly, “I won’t let you down, Uncle!” Usually, Dwarflings at Fili’s age would not be training with real weapons for another two or three years, but Thorin was teaching Fili the way Thrór had taught him and he felt that Fili showed great promise and quick improvement, enough that he could advance quicker.

There were three training dolls outside that were designed and stuffed by some of the toymakers in Ered Luin, their purpose was to simulate body density and height. Two of the dolls were shaped like orcs, with scary faces drawn in with black ink to make them appear more intimidating. Fili was daunted by how tall they actually were, but he soon began to slash and stab both orcs with his knife relentlessly, without stopping. Although his actions were appearing to be out of emotion, he still performed with impressive skill and uniformity with every strike. Fili attacked the dolls so much that the stuffing began to fall out in small piles on the ground. Finally, Thorin told him to stop, but Fili continued to stab one particular orc aggressively. Thorin had to physically separate Fili from the doll to make him cease.

“Did you not hear me, Fili?”

Fili glared at the orcs angrily, “They killed my father!” He grew tears and turned away so that Thorin couldn’t see him cry. Thorin turned him back around firmly, “You must compose yourself. This is why we do this, so that one day you can avenge your father, and from what I have seen you are one step closer from doing so,” he said, handing Fili the second knife. Fili wiped his tears and took the second knife, “Thank you, Uncle.” Thorin smiled, “Now go practice on the shorter one, you barely touched it.”

“I don’t like it,” Fili muttered, “It’s too small.”

“That is goblin-sized, goblins are meant to be shorter than orcs.”

Suddenly, Thorin felt something hit his back. He turned around to see Kili with his old bow and arrow set, which were last in the possession of Frerin. Thorin frowned and ordered, “Put that down, Kili!” Kili was trying to position the next arrow onto the bow as he moved away from Thorin, “No!” Fili’s attention was soon drawn to his brother and he ran towards him, “No, Kili!” Kili ran away from Fili, giggling, “No! No! No!” Kili ran by Thorin, who went to grab him, but Kili instantly went out of his reach. Kili finally managed to fire another arrow, this time it ricocheted off Thorin’s shoulder and flew just above Fili’s head, Thorin quickly grew angry in response to this and soon joined the chase. Kili zigged and zagged like a hare and dashed into the forest, though Thorin and Fili were close behind him. Thorin had just gotten close enough to grab Kili in a lunge, but Kili climbed up a tree at the last moment. This caused Thorin to land almost face-first onto the ground, but Fili took this to his advantage. He jumped onto Thorin’s head and onto the tree so that he was closer to Kili. Kili had climbed to the top branch and was now firing arrows down at Thorin, who had gotten up and was now glaring up at his misbehaving nephew. Fili soon grabbed the bow and tried to pull it away from Kili, but Kili pulled it back, causing him to step off of the branch, but Thorin quickly caught him before he reached the ground. Kili squirmed and cried, “Fili!” Fili jumped off the tree and stayed behind Thorin, looking down submissively.

For the first time in Kili’s life, he was being punished. Thorin locked him alone in his own bedroom, so that there was no chance of Kili escaping. Fili sat outside the closed door as he waited for Kili’s punishment to end. Meanwhile, Dís was appalled by what Thorin had done and was questioning him as he also waited beside his room.

“What do you think you’re doing, Thorin?!”

“It is called discipline, Dís, perhaps you should try it some time,” Thorin grumbled.

Dís sighed and rolled her eyes, “He did not do anything wrong!”

“So, firing arrows at me is not wrong?”

“He’s young! Dwarflings do that!”

Thorin loomed over her, “He is an heir of Durin, he should behave better,” he growled, “The throne has no tolerance for such reckless behaviour.” Dís laughed and put her hands at her hips, “There you go again, now I see why you’ve done this.”

Thorin did not lighten his tone, “Enlighten me.”

“He’s just like Frerin, I know, I see it too. But that gives you _no excuse_ to treat him that way, he’s your _nephew_ , not your _brother_ ,” Dís hissed, pushing him back to the wall with a scolding finger. Thorin narrowed his eyes at her, “How dare you speak of him, he has nothing to do with this,” he argued, “I’m just teaching your second born how to behave, because it appears that you are incapable of—”

Balin suddenly walked by with an unfinished letter and feather in his hands, “Oh hush, you two,” he snapped, “Before I separate you both.”

Dís stared down Thorin, her eyes blazing with fuming anger and rage for what she knew exactly Thorin was about to say. Balin put the feather between them, making Dís move away, “Thorin is right, Dís, Kili needs to be taught some self-regulation…and some dinner manners too,” he grumbled.

After half an hour of punishment, Thorin opened his door. Kili sat in front of the door, his face pressed up against his knees and his face wet with tears. Thorin knelt down in front of him, while Fili stayed behind and watched.

“Do you know why I locked you in my room?”

Kili looked up at Thorin and nodded.

“You know now that you are not to use weapons unless I say so, and that you almost hurt your brother?”

Kili nodded.

“You will listen to me from now on, is that understood?”

Kili slowly stood up and nodded slowly, “I’m sorry, Uncle,” he squeaked, putting his hair in his mouth. Thorin smiled and stood up, “Very good, you are free now.” Kili hurried outside and hugged Fili tightly, “I’m sorry, Fili.” Fili hugged him back and whispered something to him. Kili giggled and nodded, before the two ran off…leaving Thorin with a bad feeling that something bad was going to happen because of them.

At dinner, Dwalin was complaining that someone had stolen all the cookies out of a jar that was meant especially for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't know what else to title this as...
> 
> Thorin’s age: 123  
> Dís’s age: 109  
> Fili’s age: 10  
> Kili’s age: 5


	16. 100th Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2870) – Durin’s Day

By the time Durin’s Day came around, everything was ready. Balin had porters pillage and infiltrate all the vendors of Bree until their inventories ran dry, as a feast for all Dwarves required an enormous amount of food and drink. While this enraged the peoples of the Shire and Bree, the vendors were rewarded with wealth, as the Dwarves were permitted to pay any cost for the success of the feast by Thorin Oakenshield himself. The last few needed items had to be traded for by the people of Gondor, in return for the commission of some few jewels and necklaces. Dwarves were pouring into the West in herds and large families from every house and status. The Hobbits were frightened by the presence of the taller and intimidating Dwarves, while Men were rather annoyed because not only had they run their vendors dry, but they crowded the streets and filled the Prancing Pony’s rooms to every corner, trying to squeeze in another Dwarf into an already vacant room. There was no doubt a shortage of ale in Bree, which Thorin had promised to replenish…this made some, if not most, of the residents of Bree more comfortable. Because there was not enough room for all Dwarves to reside in the Blue Mountains, and the neighbouring lands owned by the Broadbeams and the Firebeards, most Dwarves had to camp outside. This, however, was not an issue, as Dwarves were very accustomed to living on the road, especially those from Dunland who had been in exile with Thorin and his family. This night had to be perfect, it was for all those who lost their lives to the terrible six-year war, including Thrór and Frerin, whom were still dear to Thorin’s heart; this night meant something to every Dwarf of every House, which was why the Ironfists and the Stonefoots did not question attending the reunion. Of course, his nephews did not and could not understand the significance of the grand event, especially when Thorin told them that they were not receiving gifts this Durin’s Day.

“Kinship is more important than gifts,” Thorin told them at their breakfast, “You will receive gifts next year, but you will not see all of your kin next year.”

Kili still pouted, with his arms firmly crossed, and completely ignoring his bowl of plain porridge in front of him. Fili tried to understand, but couldn’t, “But, Uncle, we don’t know them.” Thorin pushed Kili’s bowl of porridge closer to him to encourage him to continue eating, “That is why we have these feasts and reunions, so we _can_ know them,” he explained, “It is important that we stay united, no matter what stands before us, we will always have our kin.”

Kili suddenly burst into a snicker.

Thorin looked at him sharply, “What are you snickering about?”

“Loner,” Kili replied.

“Loner?”

“Mr. Dwalin says you are a loner,” Fili said, “That you don’t like parties or feasts and that you like to be by yourself.”

Thorin glanced down at his own empty bowl, “Some are that way, there is nothing wrong with it,” he muttered. Explaining this after explaining the importance of solidarity was much harder, after all, all Dwarves thrived in the company of each other, but Thorin did not. Though his spirits would be lifted initially, his soul ultimately drained in the presence of others; he preferred the tranquillity of a silent and blue night, while self-reflecting while brooding over the Misty Mountains, plotting the day he would climb those mountains again to return to where he belonged. The Lonely Mountain looking back at him, just waiting to be reclaimed.

Fili and Kili got up from their chairs and rushed to hug Thorin, though they were still very small, so they could only hug his legs. Thorin looked down at them in surprise.

“We don’t want you to be by yourself, Uncle, you have us!” Fili said cheerfully.

Thorin sighed, as the two looked up at him with their wide, innocent eyes, “Yes, you are right,” he answered, then smiled, “I am very grateful for that.” He gently pulled them off him, “Now, finish your breakfast.” Fili quickly returned to his seat, but Kili pouted once again, “Don’t like porridge, I want sugar,” he muttered. Thorin frowned, “I told you, Kili, no sugar. I want you both on your best behaviour today, and that includes wearing your best clothes.” Kili huffed, “Don’t like it,” he muttered, “Too furry.”

Thorin’s patience quickly became to sour towards Kili, but he managed to keep his demeanour. He rose from his seat and stood between Fili and Kili, “Kili, if you are good today, I will give you a gift before bedtime.” Finally, Kili cheered up extremely, standing up on his chair in excitement and diving back down on his seat to eat his porridge rapidly. Fili looked up at Thorin, knowing full well that he didn’t need anything more than what he already had; Thorin had ingrained that into his mind, it was a preventive so that he would fall into the same path as Thrór and he even used this philosophy on himself. It was easy because Ered Luin did not have hoards of gold and treasure, especially not as large and magnificent as that stash of Erebor, therefore gold did not act as an omnipresent entity within the Blue Mountains. Also, Fili had never seen but minimal pieces of gold from Bree and tradesmen. Thorin was only vulnerable when he did submerge himself the image of Erebor and the halls he once knew, and the mountainous piles of hoarded gold his grandfather often showed him as a reminder of Erebor’s true glory and power both visibly and invisibly. But often in this image, he saw the dragon, clad in the jewels clinging to it’s blood red hide, spilling off it’s enormous wings, and it’s fiery red eyes that would make him abruptly return to reality. What feared him most was that the eyes of the dragon were the eyes of his grandfather.

 

That evening, the Blue Mountains were alive with lights, food, cheer, song, and dance, in no particular order. The beginning of the evening had started with a large vigil, each Dwarf had brought a drawing or a material memory of their loved one who died during the war, then there were torches lit beside their memory, enlightening the memory with a warm glow. It was a solemn event with solemn songs and solemn faces. Although he had not died during the War of Dwarves and Orcs, Dís was permitted to leave a remembrance for Vili. Fili and Kili stood by their mother’s side as she wept and muttered to her beloved and retold stories that she had not yet told her sons. Thorin, on the other hand, was not present at the public vigil, he performed his own vigil in his throne room. He placed an image of Thrór on the seat of his throne, the image of his father on the right arm of the throne, and Frerin’s ring on the left. There was a candle lit at each item, and Thorin placed himself in front of the throne on the floor. For the first time ever, he _wanted_ to cry, he had prepared all this just so that he could release whatever he was repressing, but he couldn’t. He stared at the three he had failed, something in his chest trembled but would not let go. His memories were vivid and filled with sorrowful happiness, and still, his deepest emotions did not want to be free. His grandfather had always told him not to cry as a Dwarfling, as it was _“effeminate and cowardly”_ , as he had put. Thrór always stressed that the image of a King should always reflect the image of his people, and if a King is in emotional distress and weakness then it would cause the people to be the same, therefore, a King had to always show strength and perseverance…most of all, stoicness. But in this case, his grandfather’s words were not true, for it was the people that finally broke Thorin down, the sheer number of deaths during the war and under his family’s command that also resulted in their own demise and that deep inside he would have fought until his death to be sure that no one had to die. His tears were not just in sadness and regret, but also in anger, that he could not save those he had promised that he would protect. What good was his word? Did it really mean anything, or doom?

The door cracked open, “Dáin is on his way here with his son,” Balin informed him.

Thorin wiped his tears and quickly blew out the candles, “Should you not be mourning your father? Did he not die during the war?”

“Aye, he did, I just returned from it,” Balin muttered, “I would have thought you would have been with everyone else.”

Thorin put Frerin’s ring on, “You remember granddad’s words,” he muttered, “I cannot dare let them see me like this, especially my nephews.”

Balin chuckled and approached him, “Someone once told me ‘I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil’,” he said, “I would have liked to have seen your grandfather contend against that.” Thorin furrowed his brows at the strange wording, “Who told you that?” He asked, turning around and stuffing the images in his tunic. Balin thought for a moment, before shaking his head, “I do not remember, he wasn’t a very memorable fellow.” Thorin smirked and sat at his throne, “Age is catching up with you, Balin, you can get away with your silver hair, but your memory has me settled on the fact.”

Balin frowned, “I see you are letting out your inappropriate nonsense just before the ones you don’t want to be joking with enter, if it were politer, I would have approved of it.” With a huff, Balin turned away and stormed out of the room, Dáin taking his place. In his large, broad arms, Thorin’s cousin held a sleeping Dwarfling. A smile grew from under Thorin’s beard, “I heard you had a son,” he said quietly, “I did not expect you to take him with you on your journey here.”

“Aye, but mine lad is a stubborn and quiet lad,” Dáin said, “Hardly fusses. He’s tired from the journey, indeed, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted you to see him, I don’t think you will be visitin’ the East any time soon.”

Thorin looked at the Dwarfling, studying him for a moment, before asking, “What is his name?”

“Well, that’s the thing, I named him after you.”

Thorin felt a feeling that resembled being stabbed with a dull object to the torso, but how could he know what that felt like? He swallowed and glanced warily at Dáin, “Why?” Dáin chuckled loudly, so loudly that Thorin had been concerned that his son would wake up, “Because yer too stubborn to get yer own legacy! I did the work for ya! You will thank me later!” Thorin rolled his eyes, “Did you _have_ to name _your_ son after _me_?”

“Y’know what they say, _‘Everything comes in threes’_!”

Balin entered the room again, to Thorin’s relief, “I must ask you to leave, Dáin, it appears that the Six wish to meet with you right away in the ceremonial hall, Thorin.”

 

The ceremonial hall was filled with Dwarves, most of whom were drunk and hungry or stuffed and thirsty. There were so many that they spilled into the main entrance, but Thorin had made sure that Bombur could feed those Dwarves and even had Bofur and Bifur to help him. Dís, Fili, and Kili were given designated seats near Thorin and the six lords near him. The room was loud with drunken cheer and song and laughter, some even leapt up onto their table to dance to the beat that was being played by Dori and his two younger brothers on flutes. The Stiffbeard rose to speak to Thorin, “I would just like to offer my sincere gratitude for this night, this night shall be remembered for hundreds of years to come.”

Thorin smiled and glanced to Bergr and Éldi on his right, “Do not give me all the credit, these two helped make this happen.”

Bergr raised his mug, “Anything for you, Thorin!”

“It was an honour,” Éldi added, “We’ve been very impressed by you, Thorin, there has been nothing but good fortune since you took the throne.”

The Ironfist rolled his eyes.

The Blacklock flashed a cold glare to the Ironfist

Surprisingly, the Stonefoot rose to speak, “My people and I have considered your rule for a very long time, Thorin, but by the way we have opened up our hearts tonight with both closure and life, I would like to say that the Ironfists are wrong about your kin, you indeed have done only good so far, and behalf of all Stonefoots, I would like to apologize for wronging turning our back to you.”

Bergr chuckled, “That is the most I have ever heard out of your mouth, you bastard!”

Thorin gave the Stonefoot a nod, “You are forgiven.”

The Ironfist finally rose aggressively from his seat, growling, “How can any of you say such a thing?! Have you not forgotten what his kin had summoned? Not just a dragon upon their own lands, but death upon all of us? You know nothing about what is to come from him! It has only been twenty years, but you will all soon see, and on that day, you will wish you sided with me!”

“Oh sit your arse down,” the Stiffbeard snapped.

Bergr turned to the fuming Ironfist, “You ought to keep your trap shut on this day of celebration!”

The Ironfist clearly ignored his peers and slowly walked towards Thorin, his smoky and salty beard and mane puffing up with anger like the hackles of a wolf, “You are a disgrace to our race,” to growled, flashing a quick glance to Thorin’s beard, “You have done nothing! Just like your no-good grandfather!” Thorin glared up at him, his fist clenching under the table.

“You will fall, just like him! Your kin are weak and only bring sorrow!”

Fili suddenly scrambled up onto the table, with his dinner knife in his hand, and tackled the Ironfist. He climbed onto the Ironfist’s head as he spun and thrashed around, covering his eyes with his hands. He then grabbed the Ironfist’s beard firmly and with his knife he cut it in an uneven-half, roaring, “Leave my uncle alone!” In fury, the Ironfist managed to grab Fili by the back of the neck and pulled him off his head to hold him in front of him. His face was not only red with anger, but with embarrassment as well. The other lords laughed and chuckled at him. The Ironfist tightened his grip on Fili’s neck, “You little—”

Thorin, risen from his seat, pointed his sword at his chest, “Put my nephew down,” he ordered in a low growl. The room was eerily silent, and all eyes were on the Dwarf holding a Dwarfling aggressively and the King pointing his sword threateningly to him.

With a glare, the Ironfist dropped Fili on the ground. Fili let out a grunt in pain, just as Dís dove in from behind Thorin to drag him away from the Ironfist. Thorin put sword away and glanced at Dwalin, who was sitting across from Dís but had been quiet all evening and giving him a nod. Dwalin sprang up from his seat vigorously, as if he had held back his rage until Thorin had given him the all-clear. He grabbed the Ironfist by the collar and he dragged him out towards the throne room. Thorin looked at the other lords, who were still snickering, “Will you join me in the throne room?”

As Dwalin forced the Ironfist out of the room, someone threw a slice of pie at the Ironfist.

 

The six lords followed Thorin into the throne room, where Dwalin had the Ironfist on his knees and his head down in front of the throne. Thorin was fuming with rage and snapped at one of the lords to close the doors. When he got to the disloyal Dwarf, he grabbed him by his hair to lift his head up to face his severe gaze, “You may insult me, denounce my title, and condemn my grandfather’s mistakes, but you will _not_ lay a hand on my nephew,” he growled. He released him aggressively and turned to the other lords, “Let this be a warning to those who oppose me.”

The Blacklock chimed in, “He ought to be shunned!”

Thorin glanced at him, “No, that will not be tolerated. This is between _our_ houses, not the rest of you. What I can do is release him of all responsibility, granting us the right to deny our service to his people.”

“You were never there for us anyways,” the Ironfist grumbled.

Thorin turned to him sharply for speaking out of turn, he once again grabbed him by his hair, but this time he laid one on is face before dropping him. The punch had broken the Ironfist’s nose and blood began to drip onto the stone floor. Thorin hissed at him, “ _Itkit!_ ” He turned back to the six and stepped towards them, his tone calming, “However, he must follow the oath he made to my grandfather. When the Arkenstone is found, he must pledge his alliegance.”

“You will _never_ enter that mountain,” the Ironfist tried to shout, though his large hand covered most of his face as he tried to stop his bleeding, “As long as that dragon rules, _you are nothing_ , Thorin Oakenshield!”

This time, it was Dwalin who punished him, with a hard kick to the back of his leg that brought him down to the floor. Thorin surprisingly kept his demeanour, as the Ironfist’s words had now lost their meaning to him, “As for the rest of you, I am relieving you of your duties to me, until the Arkenstone is found. Only then, will we be united once again.”

The Stiffbeard gaped, “You can’t say that, Thorin!”

The Blacklock joined in, “You are our King, Thorin!”

Thorin smirked, “Thought you had faith in me, lads. For as long as I sit on the throne of Durin’s Folk, there will be no reason for us to meet, I promise you. Have these twenty years not been peaceful and plentiful for you all?”

The six glanced at each other, then nodded in consensus.

“Then be rest assured that the following years shall continue this way for all Dwarves.”

 

At the end of the night, all the visiting Dwarves left Ered Luin happy and cheerful, much to Thorin’s content. He was finally able to tend to Fili, who had sat in bed since dinner. Kili was with him, holding his hand and looking at him worryingly. Dís was inclined to punish Fili for his behaviour, but Thorin argued that he had good intentions and that he was only defending his honour.

Thorin approached Fili, “Are you alright, Fili?”

Fili looked up at him, “My neck hurts,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Fili.”

Fili glanced down and brought his knees up to put his chin on his knees, “Mother says that I’m in trouble.” Thorin gave him a nod, “Yes, I know. But to me, you are not.” Fili turned to him in surprise, “Really?” Thorin smiled and sat near the foot of the bed, “I know what you were doing and why you did it.”

“I didn’t like him talking about you like that,” Fili mumbled, “Did he say those things all the time?”

“He did.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Thorin looked down in guilt, “I wanted him to like me, I wanted him to see that I was different than my grandfather. But I was wrong to waste my time doing that, especially now that I know what he is capable of.” He looked at Fili, “I promised your father that I would keep you safe and look after you as if you were my own son. I will not let either you or your brother be harmed, especially by our kin.”

Fili smiled.

Kili crawled over to be in between his brother and uncle, “Uncle! Uncle! Where’s my gift? I was good!” Thorin rose from the bed, “Alright, Kili, come with me,” he said, heading for the door. Kili sprang off the bed and ran after him excitingly.

Thorin took Kili to Bofur’s toymaking station. The bench was too high for Kili to be able to see what was on the bench, but what laid on the bench was newly finished bow and a quiver with arrows that had smooth, rounded ends instead of dangerous, pointy ends. Thorin turned to Kili, “Now, before I give you your gift, you must promise me something.”

Kili gazed up at him and nodded.

“You must protect your brother at all costs.”

Kili giggled, “I know that!”

Thorin took the bow and arrows off the bench and gave them to Kili, putting the quiver on for him. Kili exploded with excitement, he spun around to try and look at the arrows in his quiver, examined the bow cheerfully, and then ran into Thorin’s leg to hug him, “Thank you, Uncle!” Thorin ruffled his youngest nephew’s dark hair, “Learn it well, because you will be our only archer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin III Stonehelm (Third Age 2866 – Fourth Age) was the son and heir of Dáin II Ironfoot of Durin's folk, who was king of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Iron Hills in Wilderland.  
> Thorin III had a descendant, who was held to be the reincarnation of Durin the Deathless, and who succeeded him at his death as Durin VII the Last.  
> (source: http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Thorin_III_Stonehelm)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 124  
> Dís’s age: 110  
> Fili’s age: 11  
> Kili’s age: 6  
> Itkit: “shut up!”


	17. Ice-fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2875)  
> This is a more laid-back chapter and has no important role in the timeline.

It had now been a little over ten years since Vili died, before the previous year ended, Dís had brought Fili and Kili to Vili’s tomb, which was situated in a special hall under the Blue Mountains where the greatest of Dwarven lords were laid, most of which who were Firebeards or Broadbeams that had lived as far back as the First Age. Thorin had wanted Vili’s body to lie here, as his bravery and loyal equated to those who also resided in the halls. As expected, after Fili and Kili saw the tomb of their father, Kili began to ask Thorin many questions about his father because he never met him in the flesh. But what was most alarming was that Dís had returned to her grievous state of mourning and disregarded her sons completely.

“It is hard losing someone you love, you of all people should know that,” Balin reminded him one night when Thorin requested his counsel on the matter. Thorin shook his head, “No, this is different, I would never keep my eyes off those two,” he grumbled. “Her heart is frail, in case you have forgotten,” Balin argued, “And it is even harder to raise two Dwarflings all by oneself, especially because you two will never get along to raise them together.”

Thorin glanced up, “ _That_ is not my fault,” he muttered, “She smothers Kili and ignores Fili.”

“Indeed, and we both know why that is. I suggest you take them off her hands until she is mentally stable.”

Thorin thought about it, now that things had quieted because of the winter season, he now had more opportunity to be there for his nephews. He smiled confidently, “Good idea, I know just what to do first.”

 

Before Fili and Kili went to sleep that night, Thorin told them that they were going to the Lhûn River to go ice-fishing. The two were confused at first and had to question more, “Why would we fish for ice?” Kili asked. Thorin sighed quietly, “No, Kili, we are fishing for fish under the ice,” he explained. Fili, who had now had a bit more scruff on his jaws, scratched at his sideburn, “But aren’t the fish dead?”

“The fish do not die, they swim under the ice and head for the sea.”

Kili thought, squinting his face as he did, “How do we fish under the ice?”

Thorin grew a little frustrated, “I will show you when we get there tomorrow.”

Fili climbed into bed and tucked himself in, “Mr. Dwalin said that father used to fish.” Thorin smiled, “Yes, he did, and he was very good at it. I have no doubt you two will be just as successful.” Kili giggled and stood up on his bed, “I’m going to catch the biggest fish ever!” He declared, spreading his tiny arms as far across as possible. Fili looked at him and laughed, because the size his brother was depicting was still too small. He got out from under the covers, stood up on his bed, and also spread his arms as far as he could, “Mine will be bigger!” Thorin was amused by his nephews’ enthusiasm, “There are fish far larger than that,” he told them. Fili pictured the size in awe, sat on his bed in one jump, and turned to Kili, “Let’s put our hooks together to catch the biggest fish ever!” Kili smiled brightly and started to jump on his bed excitedly, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Thorin grabbed him mid-air and set him beside his pillow, “Do not get yourselves worked up,” he scolded them, “I want you both to sleep well tonight.” Both Fili and Kili looked up at him with wide and innocent eyes, “Yes, Uncle,” they said in unison. Thorin kissed Fili’s head after he tucked himself back in.

“Uncle.”

Thorin turned to Kili and helped tuck him in, “Yes, Kili?”

Kili held the covers right up to his chin, “Can I bring my arrows tomorrow to fish with?”

“No.”

 

The next morning, Fili and Kili were bundled up into their winter tunics and coats. Because Kili had complained many times about fur, his mother had made him a coat with hide, which was smoother and less bulky, for his birthday. Fili wore his rabbit fur coat over his red tunic, the colour his father had worn, while Kili wore a bluish tunic, the colour Thorin and Dís always wore. Thorin wore a large coat with the fur of the Iron Hill’s finest goat that had died recently, Dáin gave Thorin the coat as a thanking gift for allowing him and his people to attend the anniversary. Before they left, Thorin gave Kili a pail half filled with bait after giving Fili the rods. Kili frowned in disgust at the bait and looked at the rods, and complained, “I want to carry the rods!” Knowing full well that giving Kili the rods would most likely end in disaster, Thorin tried to encourage Kili, “This is very important, Kili, we cannot catch anything without this pail. But, if you do not think you can handle carrying it—” Kili held the pail protectively, “No! I got this!” He declared, “I can do it!” Thorin smiled proudly and led his nephews outside.

It had snowed heavily the night before, making the snow almost as high as Fili and Kili. Thorin had to lift both of them up onto the surface of the snow so they could walk on it. Thorin took the lead and reminded them both to stay together and look out for one another. The river was not very far from Ered Luin, but the snow was so dense that it took them longer to reach it. Fili and Kili did not sink in the snow, however, because the difference in height between them and Thorin caused them to simply follow the path he made that was deep enough for them not to sink any further. Kili walked beside Fili, occasionally dodging the rods that wavered back and forth, “Uncle, how will we get the fish under the ice?” Thorin looked over his shoulder, “We are not there yet, Kili.” Fili’s eyes went to Thorin’s sword, which he had named it Deathless after the War of Dwarves and Orcs, “You didn’t bring and axe or anything! You only have Deathless!”

“I do not need anything else,” Thorin replied.

When they finally reached the river, the snow had diminished all the way to the shore. Kili ran in front of Thorin and set the pail down on the shore and got down on his hands and knees by the frozen water. He wiped the snow off and looked down it to watch for any fish, “Uncle, I don’t see any fish!” Meanwhile, Thorin was a few steps beside him, looking down at the ice cautiously and putting his foot on the ice to test its weight. He glanced at Kili sharply, “Kili, stay away from the ice until I say it’s alright.” Kili stood up and brushed the snow off himself before joining Fili and taking his fishing rod. With one foot, the ice was sturdy, but Thorin put his other foot on the ice to truly test the ice’s strength; the ice remained strong. He gave Fili and Kili the all-clear to step onto the ice while he searched for a good spot in the middle of the river to cut out a hole.

“Remember when Ori got his tongue stuck on the ice?” Kili asked Fili as they approached Thorin.

Fili laughed, “That was hilarious! It took him so long to get himself free!”

The two recalled the image of Dori lifting his youngest brother off the ground and tugging as hard as he could to get Ori free, but his efforts were futile, and Ori had to wait until his breath melted the ice to free his tongue.

Kili grinned, “I dare you to do it!”

“Do what?”

“Put your tongue on the ice!”

Fili exclaimed, “I’m not doing that!”

“Then you are a chicken,” Kili said teasingly.

Fili smirked, “Then that makes you a chicken too!”

Kili’s grin dropped in realization. Thorin withdrew his sword and cut a hole in the ice by stabbing his sword straight through, then cutting in a circle until the ice broke off as one section. Fili and Kili worked together to pick up the piece of ice and set it off to the side. Kili looked inside, now there were dark, faint shapes moving in the black water, “I see them!” Fili pulled him back, “Don’t fall in!” Thorin hushed them both, “Keep quiet,” he ordered them, “Or else they will know we are here.”

“But aren’t fish dim?” Fili asked.

“Do fish have brains?” Kili asked.

Thorin withdrew his sword and took all three rods to bait them, “Fish are like orcs, they are only smart in one thing and mindless of everything else,” he said, before putting the first bait on Kili’s rod, “They are born to kill anything in their path,” he muttered. He gave Kili is rod, then went to Fili’s rod next. Kili watched the bait that dangled at the end of his line, a small fish, most likely caught from the waters of Bywater, as small fish ensured bigger catches.

The three sat by the hole in different angles with their lines in the water. Thorin and Fili were very patient, but Kili was the opposite. He fidgeted and squirmed as he sat and watched his line, so much so that Thorin believed that Kili’s movements had compromised their chances.

“Sit still,” Thorin whispered to him.

Kili put his head on his knees, “I don’t like waiting!”

“Count to a hundred!” Fili suggested. Kili glanced down, “I can’t count that high,” he muttered. Thorin frowned, “What on earth is Balin teaching you, then?”

“Runes.”

Fili looked up at Thorin, “He’s not good at remembering things.”

“Uncle, how do I know if I have something?” Kili asked. Thorin put his head in his hand and sighed, “I explained this to you already; you will feel a pull on your rod.” Kili suddenly sprang to his feet, “I have something!” Thorin put his hand down in surprise and saw that Kili’s rod was being pulled extremely hard. Fili stood up, watching his brother with concern. Thorin stopped him with his hand, “Let him do it,” he told him, setting his eyes back on Kili. Luckily, Kili hadn’t forgotten what to do when a fish was on his line, he immediately started pulling as hard as he could, his eyes squinting at his intensity. Sometimes he could pull back, but other times his line retaliated and pulled him towards the water, urging Thorin to warn him, “Watch yourself!” Kili opened his eyes and yanked on his line, causing the fish to fly out of the water and crash into Kili. The fish was as large as Kili, so it squirmed and flopped frantically on top of him.

“Get it off! Get it off!”

Fili burst into laughter. Thorin put his rod down and quickly went to pick up the fish by the tail firmly, “Very good, Kili!” Kili sat up and wiped the cold water off his face. The fish slowly died, after struggling in Thorin’s grip, and Thorin could put it in the pail. Kili stood up with a shiver and approached Thorin, “I’m cold,” he muttered. Thorin looked down at him, “I know, you can sit with me until Fili catches something, then we will go home.”

“Uncle! Your rod!”

Thorin turned to where his rod was, it was being dragged quickly into the water, but Fili suddenly lunged and grabbed it, only to also be dragged towards the water because he had landed flat on his stomach and struggled to get up. Kili hurried to his brother, “Fili!” In an instant, Fili was dragged into the water, and Kili quickly jumped in after him. Panic struck Thorin, everything had happened so quickly. Both Fili and Kili could not swim, but Thorin could barely swim himself. Fili had let go of the rod and him and his brother were bobbing briefly in the whole, trying to fight the current of the water, but Thorin was quick to rush to the hole, get down on his knees, and grab both of his nephews in the water to pull them out. Both of them shivered and coughed as he set them down on the ice next to the pail. Thorin’s panic was soon replaced with anger, “What did you think you were doing, Fili?! You could have drowned!” He growled, casting off his coat vigorously in frustration. Fili looked down submissively, with the shadow of guilt manifested on his face. Kili continued to cough, as Thorin put his coat around them to keep them warm.

“Your mother will be in a fit when she hears about this,” he grumbled, then looked at both of them with concern, “Are you two okay?”

Both of them nodded quickly, their shivering dying down as the warmth of Thorin’s coat helped relieve the bitter cold. Thorin promptly took them home, the longer they stayed outside, the greater chance they would have of getting sick. He carried both them, the remaining rods, and the pail back to Ered Luin. There was a cold silence as Thorin trudged his way through the path he had made on the way to the river, while carrying all the weight at the same time without dropping anything or anyone. Fili occasionally looked up at his uncle, then back down, before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” he said quietly.

Anger still lingered in Thorin’s heart, “I am disappointed with you, Fili, you know better. You endangered your brother as well.”

Fili looked down, “I just wanted to help you,” he muttered.

A memory made Thorin hesitate, as it struck him hard in the chest, “You should not have done that,” he muttered, “I do not want you to ever do something like that again.” Fili looked back up at him sadly, “But Uncle—”

“I said no,” Thorin snapped, raising his tone, “You mean much more to me than that bloody rod.”

Kili giggled quietly at Thorin’s use of profanity, before sneezing.

Thorin looked ahead, the entrance to Ered Luin was just in his view, “It is that very act that killed your father, and over my stone-cold corpse will I let what happened to him happen to either of you,” he grumbled.

 

When Thorin entered the mountain, he was quickly intercepted by Balin, who had a stack of rune and history books in his arms, ready to give Fili and Kili their daily lessons, “You three are back early,” he said casually, before blinking to the sight of Fili and Kili wrapped in Thorin’s coat, soaking wet, “What in Durin’s name happened?!” Thorin glanced down at them, “They fell in,” he muttered. Balin gave Thorin an unimpressed glance, then at the rods “Couldn’t you have done something less dangerous? At least wait until they learn how to swim!”

“But I caught a fish!” Kili cried, with cheerfulness in his tone.

“Aye, lad, but you also caught the cold.”

Fili peered out from inside Thorin’s coat, “Huh?”

“If you two are too sick, we can postpone our lessons.”

Kili furrowed his brows, “But we aren’t—”

Fili covered his mouth, then looked up at Thorin desperately and let out a couple forced coughs. Although deception was far against Thorin’s moral conduct, he did feel that a day or two of rest and break from studies would benefit Fili and Kili. He gave Fili a subtle smirk, before turning to Balin, “They are most definitely ill, I was just about to take them to bed to rest,” he said. Of course, Balin believed him, as Thorin was not known for dishonesty. He gave him a nod, “Very well, let me know when they are feeling better.”

“Would you mind asking Bombur to start a stew, and Oin to bring some medicine?”

Balin nodded and walked off, “Will do, laddie.”

Fili and Kili looked up at Thorin with fear, “Medicine?” Kili squeaked. The very thought of the dark red, revoltingly strong cough syrup made Fili cringe in disgust. Thorin’s smirk grew, “We have to be sure, don’t we?”

Fili and Kili glanced at each other nervously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that Dís would have that madness of grief that runs in the family, but because she had lost someone that was closest to her than anyone else, she would have more severe symptoms. I think in the next few following chapters I will highlight her descent.
> 
> TA 2879 - Gimli son of Glóin is born.  
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.
> 
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 129  
> Dís’s age: 115  
> Fili’s age: 16  
> Kili’s age: 11


	18. The Grooming of a Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2879)

“How is your wife?” Thorin asked, as Gloin trembled before his throne. His hands were fiddling inside the pockets of his tunic, which were usually filled with coin, causing loud clinking to come from the red-bearded Dwarf. Thorin, along with others, believed that Gloin did this whenever he was anxious, as the sounds of his coins gave him assurance and comfort, “Aye, she’s fine, but the birth is takin’ longer than Oin had said,” he grumbled. “Your wife is strong, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Thorin said. Balin had directed Gloin to Thorin for moral support, which Thorin was not entirely the best at. Nothing during his upbringing by his grandfather had prepared him to counsel distressed fathers-to-be. There was a dead silence between them, as Thorin’s mind raced to find something to ease his cousin…though the irritating sound of moving coins that echoed quietly into the rest of the room did not help him think.

“…Have you chosen a name for your son?” He finally asked.

Gloin looked at him and nodded quickly, “Aye, his name shall be Gim—”

Fili suddenly ran into the room, “Uncle! Uncle!”

Thorin perked up, as Fili’s cries sounded frantic to his ear. Fili ran straight by Gloin, “Hello, Mr. Gloin!” He cried, before halting between Gloin and Thorin. “What has happened, Fili?” Thorin asked sternly. Fili frowned in surprise at Thorin’s question, “Oh, nothing has happened, Uncle, I just came to ask you something!” Thorin frowned and leaned back in his throne, “What have I told you about interrupting my meetings?” Fili glanced down submissively, “To not to,” he muttered.

Oin was next to run into the throne room, he nearly crashed into his brother as he tried to grab his sleeve, “He’s almost out!” Gloin spun around and darted out of the room, Oin following him. One could hear Gloin shouting the name of his wife from inside the throne room. Fili, realizing why Gloin had done this, turned around and shouted back, “Congratulations, Mr. Gloin!” Fili turned back around to see Thorin still frowning at him, “Sorry…I forgot,” he muttered.

“What do you want to ask me, Fili?”

Fili smiled proudly, “Mr. Dori said that I could be a King one day, just like you!”

Thorin gave him a nod, “Indeed, when my time ends, you will take my throne.”

“I want to learn how to be a good King,” Fili said. Thorin grew a smile to his nephew’s request, he was very keen on teaching Fili everything that he learned from Thrór and to see him shape into a figure very similar to himself. He rose from his throne and stepped closer to Fili, his hands behind his back, “Very well,” he accepted, “But you should know that before one becomes a King, he is a prince, and shouting across the room into the hallway and barging into an occupied room _does not_ make you a prince.”

Fili shrank back slightly and nodded submissively.

Thorin walked around him, “Come, we will begin immediately,” he said. Fili quickly followed, puzzled, “Where?”

“Outside.”

Fili glanced over his shoulder, “How long will this take?”

Thorin smirked, “Until I believe you are worthy.”

“So…um…what are you going to teach me today?”

“Some manners,” Thorin muttered. Fili furrowed his brows and cut Thorin off, making him halt, “But _I am_ mannered! I am more mannered than Kili!” Thorin held his smirk, “Are you?” Fili looked up at him blankly, “I-I don’t know,” he stammered. Thorin crossed his arms, “Do you know what integrity means?”

“…No.”

“Loyalty? Honour?”

Fili lit up at the first word, “I know what loyalty is!”

“Do you? Please, explain.”

Fili’s pride returned, “It is when you stay true to someone or something, no matter the circumstance.” Thorin softened his smirk back to a smile, “Good, so it will not be entirely difficult to teach you how to be mannered,” he said, before continuing down the halls. Fili let out a loud, annoyed sigh and followed his uncle again, “What does any of that have to do with being a King?” The question was so outrageous that Thorin had the urge to laugh, which he did not get often, “They have _everything_ to do with being a King, and when you become a King you will understand why.”

The two stepped outside, it was springtime and the first rain had already fallen, but none of the plant had yet started to bud, as the winter was exceptionally bitter this year and had lasted longer than anyone had excepted; this was a time between dead and regrowth. Thorin picked two stones that faced Ered Luin, a good image to have before Fili as he was being taught to one day rule it. Ered Luin was not as large and grand as Erebor, where there were vast, numerous halls that he could walk Fili through all day like Thrór had done with him. Fili plopped down on the smaller rock, then started to situate himself so he was comfortable. Thorin sat on the bigger rock, and took out his wooden pipe, which he still carried with him. As his fingers rifled through his tunic pocket to recover his tobacco pouch, he began with the first lesson, “Integrity is about honesty, never lying or giving out your word if you know you cannot keep it. So, when you lie about being ill so that you do not have to attend your daily studies…”

Fili blinked, “That is not having integrity?”

“Indeed.”

“Have you ever lied, Uncle?”

Thorin found his pouch, and now had it open on his lap, “I avoid it at all costs,” he muttered, “My word is very important to me, and your’s should be important to you as well.”

Fili smiled, “Alright, I will never lie again!”

Thorin smiled back, “Good.” As he put some tobacco in his pipe and his hands returned to his pockets for a match, Fili looked at him as if he wanted to ask something. When a duration of time had passed, and Fili was still silent, Thorin stopped and asked, “What is on your mind Fili?” Fili looked down sadly, which concerned Thorin greatly, “Mr. Balin said something about great-granddad,” he muttered. Thorin frowned, found the match, and struck it against the rock he sat on in one, anger-filled scratch that lit the match instantaneously. Fili then continued, “He said that he was ill, that he did things he would not normally do.”

Thorin quickly stuck the pipe in his mouth and lit the tobacco, “It is true,” he said, the pipe not disturbing his speech.

“And then, I heard from some of the other Dwarflings that granddad was also ill,” Fili added, “He ran away and now he is dead.” Thorin puffed in anger and pull his pipe out, he then answered without thinking, “He is not dead,” he retorted sharply. Fili stared at him in shock, but Thorin corrected himself by clearing his throat, “Yes, he was also ill.”

“What does one do when they are sick?”

Thorin glanced up at the sky, more clouds were drawing in from the north, “I do not know, I have never been ill…in that fashion.” Fili looked down, “Is mother ill?” He asked, in that tone that sounded as if the question had long been on his mind. Thorin looked at him with concern and set his pipe down, he hesitated, before answering, “Yes, she is.”

“Why is she ill? Can we not help her?”

The latter was a question not even Thorin knew the answer to, he took the pipe back in his mouth and puffed a couple more times, letting both clouds of smoke rise up to meet the clouds above them before he replied, “We can, but she will not let anyone help her. She is heartsick for your father and has been for many years.” Fili suddenly had tears in his eyes, but tried to wipe them, “I don’t think she loves me,” he said, his voice broken by the emergence of repressed feelings. Thorin set his pipe down, stood up, and approached Fili, “Your mother loves you, I know she does. She is just like your grandfather and your great-grandfather; she is unaware of her actions.”

“But why me and not Kili also?”

“Because you look just like your father…every time she sees you, it must remind her of him,” he said, though he had just realized that the words he had said were now making sense to him. Fili looked up at him with shame, but Thorin knelt down to his level to look him in the eye, “It matters not, because on the day that she recovers, she will realize what she has missed. But for now, I am here, and I will always be at your side. That is what being a King is about,” he said with a comforting smile. Slowly, Fili smiled back, “Thank you, Uncle.” Thorin stood back up, the overcast above him now began to irritate him, “Now, let me teach you about honour, and then we will go inside.”

Fili nodded eagerly.

Thorin returned to his seat, picked up his pipe, and tried to recover the smoke, “Honour is your reputation, and when you are honourable, you are given respect,” he explained. Fili asked, “How do you get honour?” Luckily, Thorin was able to recover the smoke in his pipe and puff, before responding, “By always doing what is right; being honest, dignified, respectful, and loyal.” Suddenly, Thorin caught Kili running up to them out of the corner of his eye. Kili had the biggest grin on his face, as he usually did.

“I want to play!”

Thorin let out a sigh. Fili hopped off his rock and approached Kili, his head high with pride, We aren’t playing,” he corrected him, “Uncle is teaching me how to be a King!” Kili’s eyes grew wide with interest, he then turned to Thorin, “I want to learn too!” Thorin and Fili glanced at each other, before Thorin set his pipe down, “I can only teach Fili, he is the oldest between you two.”

Kili pouted and crossed his arms, “That’s not fair!”

“Mr. Balin said that’s how it works, Kili!” Fili said.

Thorin flashed a glance back up at the sky, the blue sky was trying to peak through the clouds, but the clouds in the distance were darker and threatened rainfall. He rose, “We are done for today, Fili. Let’s go inside before it rains,” he said, putting out his pipe and stashing it in his pocket. Kili grinned and jumped up and down at the clouds, “I like the rain!” Thorin herded Kili back towards the gates, “You stay out in the rain, you will get sick,” he grumbled. Fili pulled on Kili’s green tunic, “Race you!” He said, before bolting for the gates. Kili laughed and raced after him. “Last one inside is an Elf!” Fili cried. Thorin frowned, though he had to remind himself that Dwarflings normally acted in this manner and that Fili did deserve a normal upbringing…but he also deserved the proper upbringing. Though Kili was younger, he was leaner than Fili, who was a bit stockier in built like their father; this meant that Kili easily caught up with his brother and entered the mountain first. When both of them made it inside, they stepped back out and laughed together, “ _Uncle Thorin is an Elf!_ ” The tease angered Thorin, as he knew full well what it meant to be an elf, and to be called one was just as bad as being called a liar. A raindrop fell right on his nose, it was cold and gave him a bit of shock, this finally set him off. He stormed towards the gates, as more and more raindrops began to fall onto him, “You two are in big trouble!” He growled.

Fili and Kili continued to laugh and darted inside.

Just as Thorin entered the mountain, Balin stood in front of him with a paper at-hand. Fili and Kili hid behind him, snickering quietly and peering from behind the older Dwarf’s wide body. Balin did not seem to notice that they were behind him, he was smiling, “I have wonderful news, Thorin!” Thorin calmed down and fabricated a smile, though his eyes were set on his hiding nephews like blazing daggers, “Go on, Balin,” he urged him.

“Gloin’s son has been born!”

This news interested Thorin, so he gave Balin his genuine attention, “Has he? Give him my sincerest congratulations,” he said. Balin nodded, “Will do, laddie.” Fili and Kili suddenly ran off, towards the throne room; Thorin knew exactly where they were going to hide, as it was their favourite place to hide. But there was something that had not yet been resolved that Thorin was particularly curious about. Balin was about to leave, when Thorin stopped him, “What is the son’s name?” Balin seemed to be holding the birth certificate, as he had to read the paper before he could answer, “Gimli.” As Balin’s head was still down, Thorin bolted for the throne room. It appeared to be empty, but he knew that it certainly wasn’t. He slowly and cautiously entered the room, making his footsteps almost silent as he approached his throne.

“Do you think he saw us?” Kili whispered.

“I don’t know,” Fili replied.

Thorin went around the throne from his right; Fili and Kili were hiding behind the throne, but on the right side, not on the left where Thorin was coming in. He stopped and peered from the side of throne.

“Boo.”

Both Fili and Kili jumped and screamed with fright and turned around to face Thorin, who smirked because their Dwarfling-screams were high-pitched like that of women (not Dwarvish women, persay).

 

{EPILOGUE}

Up until Fili reached maturity, Thorin spent every day teaching Fili how to be regal-mannered; teaching him about morals, behaviour, posture, appearance, and even shared some of his skills as a warrior; while also allowing him to let loose with his brother, and eventually the young Gimli and Ori. Everything Thrór had taught Thorin was passed on to Fili, who quickly took every lesson as gold and upheld every conduct with pride, confidence, and consistency. After a lesson about the significance of braids, Fili braided four braids into his golden hair to show how dedicated he was to the throne that he would one day claim as his own. When Fili reached maturity, he was presented with two swords as an improvement to knives. However, Fili was known for his skill in knives, so he was presented with a couple of knives from each of Thorin’s comrades. Many wondered how he was able to conceal such a copious number of knives in his clothes from the eyes of every angle, not even the elves of the Woodland Realm could find every knife all at once.

As for Kili, he was invited to participate or listen in on Fili’s lessons, but he found them boring and always practiced his archery during those times but firing his arrows at any birds that flew above them. This was why Kili never wore braids in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA 2879 - Gimli son of Glóin is born.  
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.
> 
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 133  
> Dís’s age: 119  
> Fili’s age: 20  
> Kili’s age: 15


	19. A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2880)

Twice a week, Thorin met with his twelve companions to play music. They always played his song, which he had written and transposed into scores for each instrument. Thorin’s song was finally named Misty Mountains Cold, and it was a very popular song in Ered Luin and in the lands of Dunland where some exiled Dwarves still thrived. The thirteen musicians did lack some diversity in melody, however, as Dori, Nori, and the latest addition, Ori, all played flutes and only occasionally would Balin join them with his bagpipes instead of soloing. Balin had always suggested fiddles, but no one would dare change the instrument they had played in decades to learn something entirely new and as skill-demanding as a fiddle. Thorin had some knowledge, but it was very basic, and he had repressed that memory because he had taken that lesson much to his dislike.

One summer evening, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were all late. Some wondered if they had to work later than usual, or if Bombur had stopped them for a meal along the way.

“Aye, y’know that sweet Ms. Gulla, always makin’ those biscuits,” Oin said.

Dori hushed him, “Don’t make me hungry!”

“If food was gold, that’d be those biscuits!” Gloin chimed in.

 Thorin looked over from where he sat towards Gloin, “I am sorry that we are keeping you away from your son,” he said. Gloin chuckled and shook his head, “I’m glad! That little bugger is a handful! I needed out of there!”

“How do you sleep?” Dwalin asked, with a smirk under his large beard, meaning that he already knew the answer. Gloin stuck the reed of his clarinet in his mouth and grumbled, “Do not speak of my sleep, for I have none anymore.” Dwalin let out a laugh. Dori turned to him sharply, “Oi, just wait until you have one of your own!”

Bofur and Bombur suddenly entered the room, Bofur had Bifur waddling abnormally by his side. The room let out a gasp, as everyone noticed at the same moment that Bifur had something stuck in his head. It looked to be the end of a small axe, or a broken piece of a real one. The area was surrounded with dried blood. “By Durin’s beard!” Oin exclaimed. He almost threw his clarinet down and rushed up to Bifur, “I ought to take him away right now!” Bofur gently pushed him back, “No, no! It’s alright! He’s fine!”

“He’s fine?!” Dwalin cried. He pointed to Bifur’s head, “Yer sayin’ that _that_ is _fine_?!”

“He told us that he feels fine!” Bofur assured, “It’s a miracle!”

“Can you speak?” Dori asked Bifur, but Bifur only responded in Khuzdul. Dori blinked, “I guess that is a yes?”

Thorin studied the injured Dwarf, then frowned, “He shall not play with us,” he said. His eyes then flashed to Oin, “I want you to check him.” Bifur objected, saying that he was truly fine and that he wanted to play tonight. Thorin narrowed his eyes at him, “Are you sure? You have just suffered a major—” Bifur pushed his way through Bofur and the others, picked up his clarinet, stuck the reed in his mouth for an astonishingly quick moment, then placed the reed on the clarinet’s mouthpiece, before playing a perfect E-flat major concert scale up and down. Everyone turned to Thorin, their eyes shock-ridden, for approval. Thorin was just as shocked himself, and gave Bifur a nod, “Very well, as long as you feel up to it.”

“May we start now, lads?” Balin asked.

“Wait!”

Everyone turned to Bombur, who had a biscuit in his hands. He quickly stuffed it in his mouth and tried to finish it as much as possible. Just when the others thought that he was finished, he pulled out a second biscuits. The room was soon filled with a harmonious baritone groan. Thorin caught two familiar figures peering into the room and set his harp down on the stand that stood behind him. His stern eyes on his nephews made them come forward submissively.

“Did I not just leave you to your dinner?” Thorin questioned them.

Fili and Kili nodded, “But we ate quickly,” Kili admitted.

Thorin rose from his chair, “Then it is time for you two to sleep,” he said.

“Now hold on, Thorin,” Balin interjected, making Thorin glance a him, “Perhaps your nephews would like to join us tonight.” Thorin frowned, “They have not touched an instrument in their lives,” he argued, “We cannot possibly teach them in one night!” Balin went to a crate near the corner of the room, picked it up, and brought it to Fili and Kili, “I think you underestimate them, Thorin. Young minds learn best and quicker than old ones.”

Dwalin chuckled quietly at Balin’s statement.

Fili and Kili looked down at the crate, which harboured two full-sized fiddles. There were a few sheets of music inside the box, including a string chart, which Balin took out. Kili looked up at the sheets of music in Balin’s arms, and then looked around the room to see that everyone else had a similar page.

“What do all the spots mean?” Kili asked.

“They are not spots, Kili, they are dots,” Fili corrected him.

 Balin smiled, “Actually, lads, they are called notes. Not the kind of notes that I make you write down during your lessons, these notes help you play a song.”

Gloin grumbled, “Are we gonna sit here all night until—”

Balin hushed him loudly, making Bombur and Ori flinch. Balin instructed Bofur, who knew most about music, to go with Fili and Kili and teach them in the hallway. Though the group had now lost their best flautist, Dori took his place as the leading soprano. Bifur sighed, and said that he was relieved that they could finally start playing. Gloin gave him a nod in agreement. Balin returned to his place, “Well, lads, shall we begin with Misty Mountains Cold?” Everyone except Thorin was inclined, Bombur had long finished his second biscuit and he hurried to his drum. Thorin’s own song began to haunt him, every time he heard it he would be reminded of how so long ago his life, along with others’, had been altered drastically…and to this day nothing had changed; the dragon still occupied his homeland; he was still far from home; and there was a throne and a once mighty kingdom left abandoned to die into the past like a carcass deteriorating into bone and dust. Long had the Lonely Mountain been on his mind, and long had he planned in secret of a way to take back what rightfully belonged to his people. What use was a song of hope and promise if there was nothing being done to make that promise to ring true? Thorin had hoped his grand of the Seven Kingdoms had left his previous plan to fail, as he had originally intended to have all Seven armies march for Erebor; but now they could only come together and take up their oath with the wielding of the Arkenstone. Though, Thorin was not short of plans and was very skilled at quickly conjuring up plans. He glanced at Bombur suspiciously, he wondered if Ms. Gulla knew that Bombur had taken her biscuits.

That night, Misty Mountains Cold was in fact played first, along with Bofur’s cheerful yet outlandish song about a cat playing a fiddle and a man in the moon, and finally a robust piece in D major about the success of the War of Dwarves and Orcs, but Thorin always played this piece in D-sharp minor.

 

The next day, Nori, Dori’s younger brother, was dragged in by a fuming silver-maker who lived in Ered Luin. The fuming silver-maker was a Firebeard named Ormr, who had a poor attitude and greed that only Thorin could silence with his authority. He snatched a brown rag-sack from Nori’s hands and tossed them onto the floor in front of Thorin’s throne, spoons and forks (both dinner and desert) spilled out of the sack onto the stone floor.

“This bastard has been stealing my utensils that I commissioned for Mithlond, thinking that I would not notice!” Ormr hissed.

Thorin glared at Nori, who gave him an innocent grin that looked too much like Kili’s, “Leave us,” he ordered Ormr.

Ormr shoved Nori onto the floor and crossed his arms, “No! I want to be here to see him punished!”

“Go, Mr. Ormr,” Thorin snapped. The fiery-haired Dwarf stomped out, taking the stolen silver with him. Nori still held his grin, even after a long, awkward pause, “Can I even now too?” Thorin frowned, “No.” Nori sighed and loosened his grin, “Look, I won’t do it again. Dori keeps telling me to polish our silver, but I just thought I could get new silver and—” Thorin smirked and leaned back against his throne, “How much have you stolen, Nori?”

“…What do you mean?”

“How many things have you stolen, and how long have you been doing it?”

Nori hesitated, then looked down, “I don’t know, I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Nori curiously, “What if I had a proposition for you?” Nori furrowed his brows. Thorin rose from his throne, “I have come up with a plan,” he said proudly, “What if I told you that you never had to steal anything ever again?” Nori crossed his arms, “It’ll take a lot of gold to get me to do that,” he grumbled. Thorin kept his confidence, “Exactly. I’m sure you are aware of our most famed treasure hoard?” Nori immediately thought of Erebor, and its legendary piles of gold, the enticing imagery made him blush and nod slowly.

“Here’s the deal; you steal the Arkenstone from that dragon for me, and you may have a portion of that treasure.”

Nori smiled, “Sounds like a deal to me!”

“On one condition.”

Nori’s smiled faded.

“If you are going to practice, I suggest you practice off our lands. Try Bree, where the drunkards live.”

The star-shaped haired Dwarf nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

“Tell the others I would like us to meet tonight at the music room again.”

 

Much to the Dwarves’ irritancy, excluding Gloin who was soaring with happiness that he was able to get another night away from his “ _nightmare of a son_ ”, everyone returned to the music room that evening. Thorin had told them all not to grab their instruments and sit in the circle of chairs right away. Fili and Kili were welcome for this meeting and they were the only ones who had their instruments on-hand.

“I don’t understand,” Dori said, “Did we forget to play something last night?”

Balin checked his journal, which often contained a strict schedule of every event of the day, “No, we played everything that we had planned to play.”

“We are not playing tonight,” Thorin clarified, “I merely wanted to meet with you all tonight on a different matter.” Bofur smiled at Fili and Kili, “Well, these two have been practicing all day since this morning. They are getting better every minute!” Fili and Kili, who sat in front of Thorin, looked up at their uncle, “Can we play our song?” Fili asked. Thorin looked down at them, “Soon, but we must speak first,” he replied. Dwalin glared at Nori, who was the only one who knew what Thorin had planned, “Nori keeps tellin’ us that you have a plan.”

“I do.”

There was a long silence.

“So, what is this plan?” Gloin asked, breaking the silence.

Thorin rose from his seat, now looming above both his nephews, “To reclaim Erebor.”

The room’s groan from last night returned, Balin shook his head. Fili and Kili, however, were ecstatic, gasping in amazement and excitement. Thorin crossed his arms, “I am not saying now, but in our near future. Is it not imperative that we take back what belongs to us? That dragon shall not sleep forever! We can use these years to prepare—” Balin rose and cut him off by wagging his finger, “No, no, no, we are not going down this path. Erebor _cannot_ be reclaimed, not without the mightiest of forces in Middle Earth and while that dragon still lives and breathes. Not to mention the sickness that lies in those—”

Thorin smirked, “There is another way, dear Balin. There is _always_ another way.”

“Let the lad speak,” Oin said to Balin.

“We enter Erebor, steal the Arkenstone without stirring the dragon, go to the Iron Hills, and call upon all Seven Armies to march for Erebor,” Thorin explained, “We must be few in number, and you few are the only ones I trust the most to carry out this—”

“This is easier said than done,” Balin interrupted, growing more agitated, “We do not have a _map_ , nor a _key_ , to enter that mountain. Without those, there is _no_ entering Erebor!” The Dwarves glanced at each other and nodded in agreement with the older Dwarf. Ori raised his hand, “Who has the key?” All eyes fixed on Thorin, but he knew as much as they did. Thrór had always had possession of the key, but whether he held it when he was killed was the question. Balin sighed, “Thráin had it last. Thrór gave it to him, along with the Seventh Ring, before he left.” Thorin looked at Balin in shock, as no one had ever told him any of this, and there was no reason why he couldn’t know. He had every right to know the whereabouts of his family’s heirlooms.

“Then it’s no use,” Dwalin grumbled, “Thráin is long dead.”

“He is _not_ dead,” Thorin snapped in a hiss, already troubled by what Balin had said. Kili sat up straight, trying to appear confident, and looked up at Dwalin, “Granddad Thráin is not dead!”

“Thorin, you cannot tell your nephews things that are not true,” Balin said.

Thorin glanced at him coldly, “It _is_ true.” He returned to his seat and stayed silent for the rest of the meeting. Some of the more sensitive Dwarves, Bofur, Dori, Ori, and Bombur, gave him their sympathy through multiple glances as Fili and Kili played their little piece, which was long in duration because they tried very hard to make sure that they played the right note before they moved on to the next. Though it was not elegant or uplifting, Thorin did feel better when his nephews played their fiddles; music always soothed him.

 

Later, after Thorin put Fili and Kili to bed, he sat outside in middle of night and smoked from his pipe. As always, this made him feel completely relaxed and content; the dark blue night sky complimented him, and a few stars pierced through it, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

Balin approached him, lighting his own pipe. It was unusual, as Balin never stayed up past an hour after sunset. Thorin gave a long puff, before giving Balin his attention, “What has you up so late?” Balin sat next to him, “I wanted to apologize for my harshness earlier, it was unnecessary. I just think that Erebor should not be our concern at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“We have everything; a home, peace, happiness, what more do we need?”

Thorin put his pipe down, “Balin, you know just as well as I that my grandfather and father both wanted to reclaim Erebor. I will have failed them both if I did not at least make a fair attempt. Fili and Kili are very eager, I think they deserve to see the home of our family and see everything I told them to be true, I cannot preclude them from that. I cannot sit on that throne day after day, growing fat and old, while the greatest Dwarf Kingdom of our age lies just beyond my reach. All those who died have not been avenged, and all those who lost someone they loved have not been given closure. I believe that, as their King, it is my responsibility to give that to them; because if not me, who else? If it is the last thing I ever do, so be it, I am no coward and I am not doing it for myself.”

Balin turned to him, his face now plain with worry, “You would give up all this to return to Erebor? Even if it meant losing your life?”

Thorin looked away and glanced down, “My family ever waits for me,” he muttered.

Balin shook his head, now growing tears. Thorin sensed this and looked back to him. Balin put his face in his gloved hand before looking at him, “Lad, I cannot agree to this. I promised your father that I would keep you safe.” Thorin put his pipe back in his mouth and puffed another long stream of smoke into the night, before drawing it back out, “So that is why he kept the map and key away from me,” he muttered again. He glanced at poor Balin, who was now close to cracking, the conflictions were a great strain on the older Dwarf. Thorin put his hand comfortingly on his shoulder, “I _need_ you with me, Balin. Do _you_ not also wish to see Erebor again?” Balin sniffed and wiped his tears, “Oh, lad, you know I do. I just…”

Thorin smiled, “For you, Balin, I promise I will be careful. It will make your job much easier.”

Balin frowned, “Now do not joke about that. I’d like to see you try and monitor Kili for a day, that is what it is like keeping an eye on you!”

Thorin glanced up, “No, I am not like Kili in any way.”

Balin chuckled, “You’d be surprised,” he said, before putting his pipe in his mouth and puffing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wish I knew anything about Khuzdul to write any of Bifur’s dialogue.  
> \- I decided to recognize the fact that Nori seems to be a shady thief in the films. Later, of course, it is explained that Bilbo can ONLY be the burglar because he is a Hobbit and Smaug does not recognize the scent of Hobbits.  
> \- I used some knowledge I have in music for this chapter.  
> “D major- The key of triumph, of Hallejuahs, of war-cries, of victory-rejoicing. Thus, the inviting symphonies, the marches, holiday songs and heaven-rejoicing choruses are set in this key.  
> D# minor- Feelings of the anxiety of the soul's deepest distress, of brooding despair, of blackest depresssion, of the most gloomy condition of the soul. Every fear, every hesitation of the shuddering heart, breathes out of horrible D# minor. If ghosts could speak, their speech would approximate this key.”  
> (http://biteyourownelbow.com/keychar.htm)
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 134  
> Dís’s age: 120  
> Fili’s age: 21  
> Kili’s age: 16  
> Ormr = serpent (Old Norse)


	20. Hobbiton (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2881)
> 
> Thorin, Fili, and Kili head to Bree to find Dís a birthday gift.

Spring had just begun, which always entailed an annual meeting with the elves of Lindon. Over the years, Thorin had grown increasingly bitter towards them and was very reluctant to fashion any bond to them. He could not have what happened to his grandfather and father happen to him, whenever he saw the elves, he saw them betray his family and his people. The Lord of the Grey Havens, who dealt with Thorin, was Círdan, a Telerin elf, but his people were Sindar and Noldor. Although Dwarves had very positive relations with Noldor in the past, Thorin would not take any chance with any elf, and his stubbornness soon caused much aggression and tensions between both parties whenever the elves visited Ered Luin. This year, the meeting was heated, and in the end, Thorin still did not shift in his attitude nor his position. Círdan never seemed to lose respect or faith in Thorin, however, perhaps he was one of the few elves who understood the turmoil of the Dwarves…or it was Balin who kept the stability between them, as he was not overly fond of Thorin’s contempt towards someone so wise and ancestral. For once, Thorin was worn from bickering with the elves, so much that he had planned to sleep a couple hours more than he usually did the following morning.

However, there was knocking on his door just an hour before sunrise. Groggily, he aggressively climbed out of bed, grumbling, “Balin, I told you I was going to—” When he opened the door, Fili and Kili stood, fully dressed as if they were about to leave. Both of them blinked in surprise, as they had assumed that their uncle was already awake at this hour, but he was still wearing his night-pants!

“Can we go to Bree today?” Fili finally asked.

Thorin frowned, “It is not even sunrise yet, could it not have waited?”

“No!” Kili shouted, making Thorin flinch slightly and hush him, “Ma’s birthday is soon and we need to get her a gift!”

Thorin rubbed his temples, “Your mother has not left her room in weeks,” he muttered, “We should leave her be.” Kili looked up at him, his eyes wide with innocence, “She is sad, isn’t she? Then our gift will make her happy!” Though Thorin was still corrupted with drowsiness, he shed a smile to Kili’s heartwarming logic, “Very well, just give me another two hours and then we will leave.”

Kili raised his hand.

“Yes, Kili?”

“Why do you not sleep with a night-shirt?”

Thorin’s frown returned, “I get very warm at night.”

Kili smiled eagerly, “I do too! Does this mean I can sleep without my night-shirt?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kili pouted, “Why not?”

Thorin flashed a glance to Fili, which was signal between them to get Kili distracted with something else. Fili grabbed his younger brother’s hand, “Come on, Kili! Let’s convince Mr. Bombur to put extra sugar in our porridge!” Thorin soon reflected on whether giving the signal was in fact the best choice after all, though he did not want to give Kili the slightest notion that he could sleep without his night-shirt; it would start with the night-shirt, and then soon it would be his night-pants as well!

 

After two more hours of sleep, and breakfast, Thorin took a small pouch of coins and put it in his trouser pocket, before he and his nephews stepped outside. This was the first time either Fili and Kili would travel further than the river, so Thorin gave them a few strict conditions and had them leave their weapons behind, much to Kili’s anger.

“I want you two to stay close to me where I can see you; do not run up ahead, Kili; do not speak to strangers unless I tell you it is alright; and do not touch anything, or anyone, for any reason. Is that clear?”

Fili nodded, Kili remained angry, but nodded. As the three began to head east, Fili stayed on Thorin’s right and asked, “What if there are orcs around?” Thorin glanced to his left, north, “There are no orcs here, Fili, there have not been orcs in these lands for many years.” Kili, who stayed on his left, asked, “How far is Bree?”

“Not far, as long as we keep our pace. We will be close when we reach Hobbiton.”

Kili thought, “Uncle, are Hobbits real?” Thorin glanced down at him, “Of course they are, if they were not real, there would not be a village named after them!”

“What are they like?” Fili asked.

“They are shorter than us, and they prefer simpler things.”

“Are they nice?”

“I do not know.”

Kili smiled, “Can we speak to one on the way? Just so we know what they are like!” Thorin frowned, “No, Kili, we will only be passing through.”

 

In the spring, the West was bountiful with lush green grass and vibrant blue sky. There was no bridge that crossed the Lhûn, so the only way across was to go through Mithlond, as it had a bridge that crossed just north of the Tower Hills. The elves of Mithlond were not accustomed to seeing Dwarves travel through their land, but few of them recognized Thorin and warned their kin not to stop or question him. Fili and Kili glared up at the tall elves, as Thorin had told them about their nature and how they treated their kin and quickly shared his perspective of them. They did admire the boats, however, as neither Dwarfling had ever seen such grand and elegant boats in person.

“Uncle, can we ride one of those?” Kili asked.

Thorin let out a stern, firm grunt, “No.”

The bridge they crossed was pure white and, to the eyes of humans, was very beautiful. Dwarves, however, were not fond of graceful and smooth shapes; they preferred stability over elegance and therefore always crafted very robust geometric shapes to decorate their halls and realms. In Erebor, all the green-tinged stone was carved into block columns and its halls were flat and mostly undecorated, except for the runes that ran along the halls. If one began at the entrance and ended at the secret entrance, which was unknown to Thorin at the time, the runes wrote out complete and proper paragraphs depicting famous members of the Line of Durin and briefly describing the best achievements of Durin’s Folk. The greatest of the Dwarves’ crafts were the stone Dwarves that were carved at the gates of all the Dwarf realms, they were always carved in the image of a King. There had been talk of a statue for Thorin to be made for Ered Luin, but he refused, for he explained that Ered Luin was the home of the Firebeards and the Broadbeams, and he was neither and therefore did not deserve to be memorialized above any lord of the two Houses.

Once Thorin and his nephews crossed the bridge, the lands between the Tower Hills and Hobbiton were very safe. He allowed Fili and Kili to play on the hills on the way until they reached the White Downs, where the green hills began to die off and Hobbiton was just beyond them. Thorin kept a solid gaze on his nephews as they ran up and down the hills, chasing each other and trying to push each other down the hills. Occasionally they would stop and roll down the hills, which was foolish, but entertained Thorin. One time, Fili managed to push Kili off the hill and cried, “I’m King of the hills!” Kili scrambled up to his boots and stormed back up the hill, “No, I am!”

“Do not harm each other,” Thorin reminded them, just as they grew closer to the White Downs.

Fili and Kili started to wrestle, bringing each other to the ground.

Thorin glared up at them, “Do not make me go up there.”

The two stopped and blinked at each other, before releasing one another and getting to their feet. Fili looked to his right, there were other hills that were somewhat smaller, but they had not touched them, they were the Far Downs, “Let’s make a deal,” he suggested to Kili, “I will be the King of these hills, and you can be the King of those hills.” Kili looked at the hills and smiled, “Deal!” The took shook hands and Kili turned to go to the adjacent hills, but Thorin snapped, “No, Kili.” Kili stopped and turned to him, “But those are _my_ hills!”

“They are not _your_ hills; these hills belong to no one. Now come down here, both of you, Hobbiton lies ahead and I do not want you getting lost.”

The two raced down the hill to their uncle’s side. Thorin explained to them that there was a path that ran straight through Hobbiton and that on no accord could they stray from it.

 

The first thing that caught Fili and Kili’s attention were round doors and windows inside hills. Fili pointed to them, “What are those?”

“Those are their homes,” Thorin answered.

Kili giggled, “They live like rabbits!”

Fili looked at one home with a red door, “I wonder what they look like on the inside.” Kili turned to him, “They live under the ground! That’s where worms and nasty things live!” The door to the red home opened and a Hobbit stepped out of it. This was the first time the two saw a Hobbit, they were astonished by the colourful and casual dress of the friendly-looking Hobbit, who smiled and dipped his head to Thorin, in which Thorin returned the greeting. Fili and Kili smiled back, Kili adding a wave, but their interest turned into shock when they looked down and realized that the Hobbit’s feet were enormous and hairy, and that he did not wear boots or shoes! Kili leaned towards Fili, and whispered, “They _are_ rabbits!” They soon saw other Hobbits walking around, also not wearing any footwear. Kili looked up at his uncle, “Uncle, why do the Hobbits not wear boots?” Thorin did not know the answer himself, he himself found the idea of not wearing footwear very strange, “Perhaps they do not have to, the ground here is very soft.”

A female Hobbit walked by them, wearing a green and white dress. Her hair was so fair it was close to white. She looked up at Thorin with fear and shied away when he set his eyes on her. Fili watched her, then looked up at Thorin, “Are they scared of us?” Thorin, affected by the Hobbit’s reaction to him, “No, they are just afraid of me,” he muttered. Kili grabbed his uncle’s hand, “It’s because you are tall! You should crouch down, so they do not get scared!” Thorin frowned, “No, I will not.” As the three drew closer to the end of Hobbiton, they passed by the well-known Green Dragon Inn, which was full of Hobbits. There were vendors that appeared to sell various types of tools from gardening to household tools, all that were not useful for Dwarves. They also sold food, some even were selling baked goods that were so delightfully pungent that the three of them could smell them from where they were. There were children dancing and playing outside the Inn, some of them saw Fili and Kili and raced over to them from where the Inn was. They surrounded the three, making Thorin halt and pull his nephews closer to him. The children set their gaze on Kili, who was the least threatening because he had no beard or facial hair of any kind, “Play with us! We like to play!” Kili exchanged looks with each Hobbit and grew and interested smile, but Thorin held his hand tighter and tried to move around them without harming them, “No, thank you, we are passing through.” Yet the Hobbits in front of him stepped back, so he could not get around them. “Please! Only for a moment!” A girl with brown hair cried. Thorin had the urge to be assertive, but his conscious would not let him. He was about to decline politely again, when a woman from the Inn called them back, “Get back over here, you rascals! Don’t disrupt the travellers!” The children sighed and groaned in defeat, before retreating.

Thorin quickly continued, “Thank Durin,” he muttered.

Kili looked back, “Can I play with them when we come back?”

“I said no, Kili!” Thorin snapped.

There was a bridge at the end of Hobbiton that crossed the river, just north of where the Old Forest began. There was a water mill near the bridge, Thorin pointed out that there were water mills in Erebor where the River Running ran through into the Lonely Mountain, though they were almost four times the size. Fili imagined Thorin’s description in awe, “What did they do in Erebor?”

“They made the mines run,” Thorin answered.

Kili looked around quickly, “Are there mines here too?!”

“Hobbits do not mine,” Thorin said.

“But they live underground! There could be gems in their homes!”

Fili looked at Kili, “Maybe they found some when they made their homes and they stash them somewhere!” Kili looked at his brother with a big, suspicious smile.

The path that they took was called the East Road, it ran parallel to the Old Forest. Fili and Kili looked at the forest curiously, but Thorin kept them close. Bree was just visible in the distance, it was surrounded by a tall wooden gate, which was closed at night to keep unwanted traveller of the night out. “Are Men just like Elves?” Fili asked. Thorin kept his gaze on the open entrance, “Not entirely,” he muttered, “Some are decent, but most are greedy…especially those from Bree, that is why I will be doing all the talking,” he told them, “Have you decided what you would like to give your mother?”

Fili and Kili glanced at each other, before giving each other a confirming nod, “A blanket,” Kili said.

Thorin looked down at him, “What sort of blanket?”

“A nice one,” Fili replied, “Something that will make her happy.”

“I’m sure the thought itself will make her happy,” Thorin assured him.

When they entered, the streets were filled of Men, Hobbits, and even Dwarves. There were travallers, beggars, vendors, and intimidating loiterers. The Men, who clearly lived in Bree, were dressed in dark clothing, sometimes rags, and they were filthy from top to bottom. Their hair and beards were unkept, along with their teeth, and some of the beggars had deformities that made Fili and Kili hide slightly behind Thorin’s cloak. Most, however, were nice and polite, particularly if they knew Thorin.

“How do you do, my lord?” One vendor called out from his shop.

Thorin gave him a quick smile, “Fine, thank you.”

They passed by the blacksmith’s, where Thorin used to work. The master blacksmith recognized him while he was forging an axe and stopped what he was doing to speak to him. Thorin stopped, Fili and Kili stayed close to him. The blacksmith was a tall man of his fifties with long hair that used to be brown, but now he was old, and his hair was almost fully silver. His eyes caught Fili and Kili and he grew a smile under his long beard, “Why, what brings you and your sons here, Master Dwarf?” Thorin smiled back and almost let out a laugh, “No, these are my nephews. We are looking for a gift for my sister.”

The blacksmith sat in his wooden chair, which creaked the moment he sat down, “And you could not get your smiths to fashion her a fancy jeweled chain, or something in that manner?”

Thorin shook his head, “My sister never saw the beauty in jewels, she prefers things that she can use everyday. These two wanted to come here to find her something.”

Fili looked up at Thorin for approval, which he was granted, and stepped forward slightly, trying not to be afraid of the Man that his uncle was being friendly towards. The Man gave him a firm look, “What is your name, little one?” Fili swallowed and held his head up to show his pride, “Fili, son of Vili.” The Man’s smile grew, he then pointed to Kili, who was cowering behind Thorin’s leg, “What is your brother’s name? I am afraid he will be too scared to tell me himself.”

“Kili.”

The Man chuckled, “Oh Dwarves and their names!” He had a fairly long chuckle, before it died into a raspy coughing fit. Thorin frowned, “Are you not well?” The blacksmith shook his head as he coughed until he could finally stop himself and answer, “The smoke has finally gotten to me,” he grumbled, “It will not be long now…curse you and your tough lungs, why did Eru not let me be a Dwarf instead?” He rose and loomed over Thorin like a tree, “You know, you were my best apprentice, I guess I should not have been surprised. Look, how about I help you find what you are looking for? You’ve taken the time to stop by, allow me to make this time valuable between us.”

Thorin looked at him with interest and gratefulness, “Very well, we are looking for—”

“We are looking for a nice blanket!” Fili shouted enthusiastically.

Kili came out from behind Thorin’s leg and stood close beside his older brother, though keeping his eyes to the ground. The Man stroked his beard as he thought, before he smiled, “Ah, yes, I know just who you are looking for! Come with me,” he said, before leaving his quarters and continuing down the path. Thorin and his nephews were quick to follow, as the Man’s pace was quite slow. Bree was not a town of luxury; its buildings were not painted and were made mostly out of wood and stone for the foundation. Structures like stairs or overhangs looked to be made desperately out of single planks of wood, yet they incredibly performed their purpose. The ground was always caked with mud, even when it did not rain for a couple days prior. At night, Bree was much more daunting and darker, one outside of town would not find themselves there unless on important business or urgency, and they would usually stop at the Prancing Pony Inn for a bed…or a drink or two. In the day, however, it was very decent, and the shady folks stayed in the shadows. Peoples of all races in all corners of the West came to Bree to trade and barter, though Hobbits preferred to sell in their own village. Thorin knew all of the Dwarvish vendors and they were thrilled to see their King walk by them, some of them had fought in the War of Dwarves and Orcs, some were lucky to have fought alongside him in Moria, and others were commoners from Ered Luin who did not mind dealing with Men of the West. The vendors were the only source of colour in Bree, they were tarped with various different colours to help visitors remember who owned which shop, which is how the blacksmith knew exactly where he was going. He stopped at a vendor with an orange tarp, there were numerous blankets and tapestries stacked on top of one another on some wooden crates to keep them from getting dirty. While Thorin could see over them, Fili and Kili could not. Thorin looked up at his former employer, “Thank you for helping us, I owe you a favour of your own. Should you find yourself in need, I will welcome you into my kingdom and whatever you require shall be your’s,” he said. The blacksmith gave him a nod. Fili and Kili both waved at the Man, before he started to walk back the way they had came.

“He was nice,” Fili commented.

“He is, he was the only one here who would give me a proper job,” Thorin explained, “Now, which one of you wants to sit on my shoulder?”

A lady in her sixties leaned over the blankets, she was in rags but her hair was kept and she appeared cheerful, “We have a box, if you’d like, sir.”

Thorin frowned he was not entirely used to being mocked for his height as other Dwarves were, as he was quite tall, and no one would dare mock a Dwarf King, “I do not need a box,” he grumbled, “I can see fine.”

The woman’s attitude did not damper, “I meant your little ones, sir!”

Something in Thorin was relieved, but there was always a chance that she could have been mocking him. He accepted the box, which the lady pointed to at the far-left side of her area. Fili and Kili went to the box and moved it beside Thorin, before the two stepped onto it. Luckily, both them could fit on the box. They gazed at the piles of blankets, their faces full of shock and uncertainty; there were fur blankets, patterned blankets, wool blankets, quilts, and tapestries.

“We are looking for a gift for my sister, these are her sons,” Thorin told the shop owner.

The lady smiled, “Alright, what colours does she like?”

Thorin froze, he did not know; Dís had always worn blue and green dresses, but those were the colours of his family, perhaps she did not like those colours, but if she did how would he know? His sister and him were not fond of such menial discussion, especially with one another.

“Green!” Kili shouted.

Thorin looked down at him, “Are you sure?”

“Sir, perhaps I can interest you in our most finest arrival?”

Thorin gave her a nod and she went to the far end to rummage through the mountains of blankets. Something caught his eye while she was gone, the right side of a blue tapestry with golden detail. He recognized his grandfather’s crown and the ravens, along with some of the names such as Oin and Gloin, Balin and Dwalin. He pulled the tapestry completely out and was astounded to see that it was the Durin family tree. He found his grandfather, which then led to his father, Dís, Frerin, and himself. Fili and Kili were not depicted on this tapestry, meaning that it had been made before they were born.

“What is that?” Fili asked.

Thorin brought the tapestry over to them and laid it out completely so that they could see everything on it, “This is our family.” Fili and Kili looked at the tapestry with interest. “Where are we?” Kili asked.

“You are not on here,” Thorin answered.

Fili leaned forward to the top right of the tapestry and read:

_The King beneath the mountains,_

_The King of carven stone,_

_The lord of silver fountains_

_Shall come into his own!_

_The woods shall wave on mountains_

_And grass beneath the sun;_

_His wealth shall flow in fountains_

_And the rivers golden run_

Thorin had not heard the words that were on the tapestry before, which made him wonder who had made the tapestry. The lady returned with a large green blanket with golden fur trim and underside, she began to tell the story behind the blanket itself; the fur had come from a wolf near Rohan that had been threatening their horses, it was finally killed, and the peasants had taken the wolf’s fur. She was about to explain how the fur had came to be in Bree, but Thorin interrupted her, “Where did you get this?” He asked, pointing to the tapestry in front of him.

“That? I believe that came from a man from the East, not sure where, he was rather shady.”

Thorin frowned, “From a lake perhaps?”

The lady gasped, “Oh, yes! Now I remember! Yes, he was from a town on a lake! I should have remembered something that strange!” Thorin reached inside his pocket for his coin pouch, “How much for the blanket?”

“Twenty coins.”

Thorin rolled his eyes at the outrageous price, but he was not the haggling type, unlike his kin. He had thirty on him, so he gave her the twenty and returned the ten into his pocket. He took the blanket and gave it to his nephews, “Carry this,” he told them. Fili and Kili each took an end of the blanket, before carefully stepping down from their box. Thorin then rolled up the tapestry, “I have paid for the blanket, but I am taking this for nothing,” he said. For once, the lady’s expression soured, “You can’t do that! There is a price for that tapestry!” Thorin narrowed his eyes at her, “This tapestry is far more _mine_ than _your’s_ , I am leaving with it and taking it where it belongs!” The woman loomed over him, her face now dark in the shadow of the tarp, “You have no right,” she hissed. Thorin glared up at her, Fili and Kili stayed close behind him, now frightened of the woman.

“I have every right,” Thorin growled back. He unraveled the tapestry and pointed to his depiction on the bottom of the tapestry, “This is _me_ ; I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór!” He pointed to each of his fathers accordingly on the family tree. He then pointed to his sister, who was left of Frerin, “And this is my sister, Dís.” The woman’s face was now pale with realization and fear, as Thorin rolled up the tapestry, “You should be glad that none of my kin had found you in possession of this tapestry,” he grumbled, before leaving with his nephews beside him.

There was no conversation until the three had passed through the gates of Bree. Thorin was dejected and troubled by the tapestry, why would someone in Esgaroth fabricate a tapestry of the House of Durin for the sake of profit? And what did the passage mean?

“Uncle, why did you take the tapestry and not pay for it?” Fili asked.

“It belongs at home,” Thorin responded, “I should not have to purchase our own family tree from a human.”

On the East Road, Kili sometimes trailed behind and Fili had to run back and help him catch up. It was now a couple hours before sunset and none of them had eaten since breakfast. Kili grabbed the end of Thorin’s coat and looked up at him, “Uncle, I’m hungry,” he complained. It was going to be almost three hours before they reached home, so Thorin strongly considered it.

“We are not far from Hobbiton, we can get something to eat for the road home.”

Kili smiled and jumped up and down excitedly, “Yes! I like Hobbiton!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA 2880 – Belladonna Took marries Bungo Baggins (S.R. 1280 + 1600 = TA 2880)  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Bungo_Baggins)
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 135  
> Dís’s age: 121  
> Fili’s age: 22  
> Kili’s age: 17


	21. Hobbiton (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2881)

Hobbiton was just as they had left it, the children were still playing outside the Green Dragon Inn and the air still smelled of baked goods and numerous different types of flowers from the gardens outside each home. Fili and Kili were debating over which kind of pastry they wanted and planned on how they were going to eat so that their treat lasted until they arrived at home. Thorin was once again greeted and rejected by Hobbits that walked by, one gentleman even scoffed at him for no apparent reason. The more Thorin was shunned, the more his attitude of Hobbits began to degrade; they had everything, their little homes, their preppy clothing, and a constant knowledge that they were always in comfort and in peace…clearly, they knew nothing of the world past the bridge. If they knew who he was, what he had lost, they would not be scoffing at him. Fortunately, the lady who ran the pastry vendor at the Green Dragon Inn was very polite and kind towards him, and the table was small enough for Fili and Kili to see all the pastries while the lady began a delightful conversation with Thorin.

“What brings you to the Shire on a beautiful afternoon such as this?” she asked.

“We are on our way home from Bree,” Thorin replied, flashing a glance to the blanket and the tapestry under his left arm, “We decided to stop and take something to satisfy our stomachs.”

The young female Hobbit had black curly hair and dark eyes, which lit in amazement as Thorin spoke, “You are from the Blue Mountains, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She blushed and sighed, “I always wanted to go there, just to visit and see what those lands are like. Though, I’m afraid I have never been past Ferny’s Fen. Is it true that there are Elves that live near those mountains?” Thorin furrowed his brows at the question, she spoke of elves as if they were beings of myth, “Yes, I parley with them occasionally.” She gaped slightly, “You must be very important, Mister! May I ask for your name?”

“Thorin, son of Thráin.”

She closed her gaping mouth and frantically brushed flour and crumbs off her apron which she wore over her green dress, “Oh my! You are a _King_! How foolish of me to waste your time!” Thorin felt the heat of guilt within him, “I do not mind,” he said with a smile, “What is your name?”

“Belladonna Baggins, though I used to be Took,” she answered, “All that rambling came from the Took in me, my husband does not approve of stepping outside his door, that is the Baggins in him,” Belladonna added with a laugh, “Now what can I do you for?” Thorin looked down for a consensus from his nephews, but they were not beside him. He turned around, they were not behind him, he quickly scanned the area, but all he saw were Hobbits, “Fili? Kili?”

“Are you alright, Thorin?”

Thorin turned sharply back to Belladonna, “My nephews, they are gone,” he said, as fear struck his chest. Belladonna quickly walked around her shop to stand beside him, she looked around herself, even standing on the tips of her toes, “They couldn’t have gone far,” she said, “I will help you find them!” Thorin was too focused on his nephews to either accept or deny her offer. He took another, solid look around, something was different, but his mind was clouded with worry. He finally remembered and muttered, “Children.” Belladonna looked up at him, “You think they went with the children?” He blinked and looked down at her, “There were some children the first time we came through, they wanted to play with Kili.” Belladonna put her hands on her hips, “Those girls,” she muttered, shaking her head, “I know exactly where they took your nephews.” She grabbed him by his armguard on his free hand surprisingly aggressively and guided him away. Thorin had never strayed from the path he usually took, so when Belladonna took him from that path, everything was unfamiliar to him. The path made many turns up and down slopes, passing by multiple homes. A yellow door opened, and Belladonna abruptly stopped, there was a young gentleman at the door.

“Did you close up shop early?”

Belladonna shook her head, “No, no, Dear, I am helping this Dwarf!”

He looked up at Thorin, his eyes widening slightly, “W-what ever you say, Dear!” Thorin met eyes with him briefly, before she yanked him onwards. He was quite impressed by the vigor and robust nature of this Hobbit that he had not seen from other Hobbits. He cleared his throat quietly, “I should not have taken you away from your shop,” he said.

“I do not mind at all! I’m a Took, I enjoy a little adventure!”

The two finally came upon a farmer’s wheat field, which was clearly used by children, as the wheat was pressed down to make a path by use. There was a trail of flowers on the path, and there was the sound of girls giggling. Thorin stopped and jerked his arm back, “Fili! Kili!” Not long after he called, Fili ran out from inside the field, “Uncle!” Belladonna stormed into the field as Fili grabbed Thorin’s hand desperately, “They have Kili! They won’t let him go!” Thorin sighed in relief and knelt down, “Are you alright?” Fili nodded.

“Why did you leave my side?”

Fili glanced down, “I didn’t want to leave my brother,” he admitted, “They were taking him, and I didn’t want him to be alone. I’m sorry, Uncle.” Thorin smiled, “You did the right thing.” The girls ran out of the field and passed them, they all had flowers in their hair and in their dresses. Belladonna came out with Kili holding her hand, there were numerous flowers in his hair and his clothes, and his eyes were filled with tears. He let go of Belladonna’s hand and ran over to Thorin, who set the blanket and the tapestry down so Kili could embrace him.

“They thought I was a girl,” Kili mumbled into Thorin’s tunic.

Belladonna looked down at Kili, her gaze filled with sympathy, “You poor thing,” she said. Thorin held up a strand of Kili’s hair as he held them, the flowers were woven in terribly into his hair, “It’s over, Kili, they will not do it again.” Kili whimpered, “I want them out.” Thorin looked at him, “I will take them out when we get home,” he told him. He pulled him away to set him down, but Kili resisted and insisted that he stay with Thorin, who now had to carry him and the blanket and the tapestry. Thorin rose, with Kili on his shoulder and the other two items under his left arm again.

“I’m hungry,” Kili complained again.

Belladonna smiled, “Why don’t I take you back to my shop and give you three a small basket of biscuits free of charge?” Thorin shook his head, “I could not ask that of you,” he declined, “You have helped us enough, I will pay for them.”

 

Even though the biscuits costed five coins, Thorin gave Belladonna his remaining ten coins to thank her for helping him find Fili and Kili. By the time they parted, it was sunset, and since they were heading west they could watch the sun set right in front of them as they travelled home. The sky was yellow and orange-red to begin with, to Thorin they reminded him of the flames on the pine, but to his nephews it was simply beautiful; Fili and Kili gazed in awe at the sky’s wonderous colours as they split the biscuits, but Thorin looked at the sky in caution. When the fiery sky died down and purple and dark blue began to come down from the heavens, Thorin was much more comfortable, and they had reached Mithlond. The Elven port was empty, much to Thorin’s further comfort. The darkness of night came down upon them quickly, but the white of the bridge and the architecture glowed in the contrast of night to guide their way. Kili had fallen asleep, his head resting on Thorin’s shoulder; Fili yawned occasionally but refused to let tiredness overcome him. When they crossed Mithlond and were heading north to reach Ered Luin, the stars were finally visible and filled the sky with their far-away light.

“Mr. Balin says that the stars form an eagle at night,” Fili said, “But I don’t see how, all the stars look the same.”

Thorin glanced down at Fili, “Some stars are larger than others, it is those ones that form the shapes we know as constellations.” He stopped, making Fili stop as well, “Look up and find the largest star you can find,” he instructed. Fili stared up at the sky for awhile, before pointing, “There! I can see it now!”

“Good, now look for the stars that are smaller, yet larger than the others. They will be bright—”

Fili gasped, “I see it! I see the eagle!”

Kili woke up and squirmed, “An eagle?!”

Fili turned to Kili, “Come, Kili, I’ll show you!” Thorin set Kili down, who quickly joined his brother’s side. He listened as Fili told Kili exactly what he had told him. After much pointing and direction from Fili, Kili finally found the eagle and smiled brightly, “Are there other ones?”

“There are as many as you can see,” Thorin answered, “Now come,” he ordered, “We are almost home, we may stargaze another night.” He continued on and Fili and Kili followed beside him, though still looking at the stars. “Uncle, tell us again about Durin’s Crown,” Fili said, “It is on the tapestry, isn’t it?” Thorin glanced down at the tapestry, “Indeed,” he muttered, “As you both know, the Seven Fathers were put to sleep to be later awakened when the elves and the Men did; When Durin awoke first in Khazad-Dûm, he looked into Kheled-zâram and there he saw seven stars upon his brow in the shape of a crown, deeming him the right to rule all Seven Houses by worn oath…this is the right that I used to hold until I suspended their oath.”

“Why did you do that?” Fili asked.

Thorin glanced down, “Some were uncertain of me, they knew what your great-grandfather had caused and believed that I would bring the same doom. I do not want any instability of trust between any of our kin, even the Ironfists. I told them that when the Arkenstone is retrieved, they must uphold their oath once again and defeat the dragon as one. This will prove that I am a suitable leader for our people.”

Fili stopped in front of him, Kili stopping just behind him, “But you _are_ a great leader, Uncle! How can they be so blind?!”

Thorin frowned, “Now watch your tongue, Fili, do not speak ill of those who are wiser than me. They have lived through far more perils of the world than I and know what is best for all Dwarves.”

“But that’s not fair,” Fili objected, “Everyone here thinks you are a great leader, even Mr. Bergr and Mr. Éldi! They say that nothing bad has happened since you took the throne!” Thorin held his frown and narrowed his eyes at Fili, before moving around both him and his brother and muttering, “I will not discuss this further, you are too young to understand.”

Fortunately, Ered Luin was mostly still awake at this hour when the three returned home. Balin had been waiting for them, and he appeared almost at his wits end when he confronted Thorin, “You are late,” he said, “Did something happen?” Thorin was not in the mood to recount the entire trip, luckily, Balin’s attention was drawn to Kili, “Why are there flowers in your hair, lad?”

“I was attacked by girls,” Kili answered.

Balin crossed his arms, “Are you telling the truth, Kili?” He was very used to hear the occasional lie from Kili, just as much as Thorin was. Fili stood next to his brother and defended him, “Yes, Mr. Balin, I saw the whole thing myself.” Thorin stepped forward and leaned towards him, he asked him to have a word with him privately in his bedroom and then motioned to the tapestry, which peaked the older Dwarf’s interest. “Whatever you say, laddie,” Balin complied, “I’ll take those for you, Thorin, you look exhausted,” he insisted, taking the blanket and the tapestry from Thorin’s arm and leaving promptly. Thorin took Kili’s hand, “Come, I will get Bombur to prepare some proper food for both of you. When you are finished, you are to go to bed,” he said, taking them both to the dining room. Both brothers nodded, “Yes, Uncle.”

 

Once Thorin left his nephews with Bombur, he went to his room, where Balin had the tapestry laid out flat on his bed and was inspecting it carefully with his specs, leaning over the bed. He had a candle lit by the bed, the only candle that Thorin kept in his room. As Thorin entered, Balin asked, “Where in Durin’s name did you find this?”

“In Bree, the shopowner said that it was given to her by a man from Laketown. I took it without giving her a single coin for it,” he grumbled, “I was not about to pay for something with my family’s name on it, including my own. And look,” he said, pointing to Balin’s depiction, “You are on it as well.” Balin smiled, “Ah yes, I did see, I am glad that they took the likeness of my younger self.”

“But what concerns me most is this passage here,” Thorin said, pointing to the passage that Fili had read aloud in Bree, “Do you know what it means, Balin?” Balin let out a sigh and stood straighter to meet his gaze with Thorin’s, “It is a prophecy, conjured by the people of Dale just a few years after Smaug destroyed the city. They had hope after they heard Thrór and Thráin had survived, they believed that they would soon return and take back Erebor and return the land back to its former glory so that Dale may be rebuilt…but perhaps their deaths have not reached the East yet,” he explained, “Furthermore, this is not exactly how the whole prophecy goes, I do not have it on record but I have heard there are at least eight more verses to this, though I do forget what they are.” Thorin looked down at the tapestry in amazement, “Do you know what this means, Balin? It means that we are _meant_ to reclaim Erebor!”

Balin put a firm hand on Thorin’s shoulder, “Lad, do not get your hopes up again. We are simply not ready, do not let pride overcome your patience.”

Thorin’s warmth of amazement did not diminish, he decided that the tapestry would be a reminder to him not only of what he must do, but of those of his family who had fallen. He told Balin that he wanted to have the tapestry hung on his bedroom wall by pegs the next day, which Balin contently agreed to.

 

Before Fili and Kili went to sleep, Thorin tried to get the flowers out of Kili’s hair, which was a challenge of its own. Kili was not used to having someone touch his hair, he didn’t like how it pulled. Often times, Thorin had to chase Kili down just to brush his hair, sometimes he was unsuccessful and Kili’s hair would stay unbrushed. Thorin and Balin tried to encourage Kili to learn how to braid his hair, but Kili refused, so he was the only Dwarfling without braids. However, since Kili strongly wanted to get the flowers out, he let Thorin, along with Fili, to help him. Kili sat on a chair while Thorin and Fili worked behind him. Some flowers could be pulled out without any pain, but others were almost tied in by his hair and Thorin struggled with untying them. Since Hobbits had much smaller fingers, especially the younger ones, he had Fili try to untie the harder ones. Kili whimpered and complained, as every movement painfully pulled his hair. He began to squirm, which only made the pain worse.

“Hold still, Kili!” Fili said, “I almost had that one!”

Kili crossed his arms, “It hurts!”

Thorin held Kili still as Fili made one final attempt with the flower he worked on, soon Fili could unravel the flower and pull it out. They had now cleared the length of Kili’s hair of flowers, but now they had to get the flowers at the top of his hair. Fili tried to stand taller, but he couldn’t reach, “I can’t reach, Uncle,” he said. Thorin, however, was more than tall enough to work on the top of Kili’s hair, “I will have to pull out these last ones, they do not appear to be difficult.”

Kili turned around in the chair to face him, “No! It’ll hurt!”

“You want them out, don’t you?” Thorin argued.

“I want Fili to do it!” Kili snapped.

Fili’s eyes met his brother’s, “I can’t! Just let Uncle do it, Kili!”

“No!”

“I will try not to pull unless I have to, I promise,” Thorin told him. Kili hesitated, then turned back around. Thorin began to examine how each of the remaining flowers were woven into Kili’s hair, while Fili moved in front of Kili to try and distract him, “Should we give Mummy her gift tomorrow or wait until her actual birthday?” Kili grinned, “Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I can’t wait that long!” Fili smiled, “I think she will like our gift,” he said. Kili nodded, just while Thorin was working on untangling a flower, making his hair pull, “Ow!”

“Stop moving!” Thorin snapped.

Kili groaned quietly and continued, “Ma stays in bed all day, she has to like our gift!”

The comment disturbed Thorin greatly, the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. It wasn’t fair that Dís was isolating herself from her own sons and that all they knew of her was that she stayed in bed all day. There must have been _some_ part of her that yearned to be with her sons and her birthday was the perfect opportunity for her to do so.

“Boys, how would you like to go to the Gulf for your mother’s birthday?”

Fili looked up at Thorin, “Really? But you said you never wanted us to go there!”

“What about Ma?” Kili asked.

“We can take her with us,” Thorin answered, “The view should make her feel more comfortable and keep her mind off her sorrow. We can give her your gift when we get there, and her mind is clear.”

Kili squirmed excitedly, “Can we fish in the Gulf?”

“The current is too strong,” Thorin said, “It’s too dangerous.” He pulled out the last flower, much to his own relief, “Fili, get Kili’s brush.” Fili quickly went to Kili’s dresser and grabbed his hairbrush. Kili blinked and turned around, “Are they all out?” Thorin smiled, “They are.” Kili sprang off his seat and ran around, “I’m free!” Now Kili’s hair was sporadic and terribly messy.

“Now I must brush your hair, Kili.”

Kili halted in front of Fili, who had his hairbrush. He stepped back, “No! I don’t want my hair brushed!” He ran to his bed, climbed up, and dove under the covers completely. Thorin frowned, “I am not playing anymore games! I want to get to bed!” He glanced at Fili for help, Fili jerked his head to Kili’s bow and arrows that were leaned up against Kili’s dresser. Fili then approached Thorin and gave him Kili’s brush.

“Kili, if you do not come out right now, I will take away your arrows.”

Kili pulled the covers off his head, though keeping the rest of him under the covers. He glanced at his arrows, then slowly crawled out of bed and went to Thorin. His hair was now even worse than before. He returned to the chair and let his uncle brush his hair, though every time the brush tried to go through it would soon get stuck and cause Kili much pain. “If you brushed your hair everyday like you are supposed to, it would not be so knotted,” Thorin grumbled, finally managing to run the brush straight through the first section of hair.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA 2880 – Belladonna Took marries Bungo Baggins (S.R. 1280 + 1600 = TA 2880)  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Bungo_Baggins)
> 
> Soronúmë was one of the constellations that Varda traced in the sky with the dews of Telperion, before the Awakening of the Elves. The name means "Eagle of the West" in Quenya (from soron, "eagle" and númë, "West").  
> (http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Soron%C3%BAm%C3%AB)
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 135  
> Dís’s age: 121  
> Fili’s age: 22  
> Kili’s age: 17


	22. Dís' Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2881)

South of Ered Luin was the Gulf of Lhûn, a body of water shaped as an arrowhead pointing eastbound, not far from the west coast that brought in the water from the Sea. Boats from Mithlond travelled through this body of water to get to the Undying Lands. Because of its immediate connection to the Sea, one could see the Gulf open up to the rest of the vast, blue Sea just by standing at the north-shore, south of the Blue Mountains. When the sun was at its peak for the day, the Gulf captured the rays of the Sun and sprawled them out across its surface, causing it to shimmer and glimmer like the light reflecting off of gems. At sunset, when the sky displayed its fiery, magical colours, the Gulf’s surface reflected the sky, but in a reddish-purplish tinge. At night, when the full moon played its part, the Gulf’s surface would turn silver, as if the metal had been liquified, dumped into the land and pooled together to make the Gulf; or as if the Moon had fallen down flat onto the Gulf itself and leaked out towards the East. The Gulf and the following rivers were named after this perspective of the phenomenon. These were the Gulf’s most beautiful moments; unfortunately, Dís’ birthday came on a day when the clouds of grey blocked the Sun’s glory and left the sky in a grey as fair as the buildings of Mithlond, but Thorin was adamant on taking her there. The sight of the Sea, some say, would sooth anyone in sorrow with its song and from its waves of calm nature and tranquility, the Gulf only replicated these aspects in a gradually smaller nature, just before it narrowed to Lhûn and Little Lhûn. Thorin was once suggested to go and see the Gulf himself, just to see if the belief was true and if it would help ease his burdened expression, but he did not believe that a simple Gulf would help him; his burdens were too profound and too vigorous for him to repress and silence. Ever since his nephews could step outside the gats of Ered Luin with him, Thorin had told them multiple times not to venture near the Gulf; although the Gulf was very appealing to the eye and soul, its current was rough and fast and would easily sweep away any inexperienced or experienced swimmer. Dwarves were not overly fond of putting themselves in water leisurely unless they were forced to do so during their travels, they were the people of the Earth and therefore had no need or desire to swim…although Dwarflings seemed to see the enjoyment in it, though are usually not ever taught and usually grow out of the interest eventually. Although Dís had endured slightly more burdens than him, Thorin was confident that the Gulf would help her, along with being with her sons. The day before, Thorin had approached Oin, the apothecary, in his quarters to ask if Dís would be capable of at least getting out of bed.

“Aye, she is perfectly capable. The maids even say she had often gotten out of bed quite recently,” Oin responded.

Thorin was curious on what she would be doing if she were not still mourning, “To do what?” He asked.

“She does not do anything in particular, my guess is that her body gets sore after lyin’ there for hours on end.”

Thorin glanced up, “At least she still bears _some_ common sense,” he muttered, “Would she be able to step outside? I would like to take her and her sons to the Gulf tomorrow.” Oin thought, stroking his long, graying beard, “She should be fine, although she may be a wee more tired than usual, I suggest you hold her arm.” The very idea of walking his younger sister like she was an old woman made Thorin uncomfortable, and if Dís was sane she would also feel the same, but he knew that he had to make some amount of sacrifice to make her comfortable and happy tomorrow.

Fili and Kili, mostly Kili, were struggling with keeping the surprise from their mother. The morning before her birthday, Kili would stand by the closed door of their mother’s room and squirm with anxiousness until his brother could finally pull him away.

“Why can’t we give her the gift now?” Kili complained at breakfast.

“It is best to give her everything all at once,” Thorin explained, “Why do you think we only receive gifts on Durin’s Day?” Kili blinked, nothing came to mind. “What is your favourite day of the year?” Thorin asked, a little impatiently because he had to explain himself yet a second time.

“Durin’s Day!” Kili cried.

“And why is that?”

Kili grinned and bounced in his seat, “Because we get gifts!”

Thorin stopped eating his porridge to grow a smirk, luckily, this was all Kili needed to finally fit all the pieces together. The Dwarfling let out a loud gasp that make Fili flinch and turn to his brother in concern, he then let it out in a cry “That’s why?!” The blow almost made Thorin flinch, though he had grown used to Kili’s outbursts of revelation. He continued eating and added, “That way, we can all be happy at the same time,” he said, though went he said it he had hesitated, it was if he had lied for the first time, but perhaps he hadn’t.

That night, Thorin sat on his throne to contemplate how tomorrow could and should transpire. He was known for being prepared and always had a plan, no matter how quickly he needed one. He had to think of every scenario and prepare accordingly mentally, and later physically…though sometimes his pride and eagerness allowed things to go above his head. No one entered his halls at night, none would dare disturb him from his privacy and self-reflection. He constantly thought about the most likely possibility that Kili would get himself in trouble and that most times Fili was not capable of restraining him or directing him back to common sense, especially after what had happened in Hobbiton.

Then Balin entered the room.

Balin knew more than anyone that Thorin preferred his time alone and that he was not to be disturbed unless someone desperately needed his assistance. So, when Thorin was in fact disrupted by Balin’s unexpected presence, he knew that it had to be something of a serious matter. The older Dwarf looked down submissively the moment he met eyes with him, for the first time in his life. There was a dead silence in halls, and Thorin soon yearned to hear Balin speak.

“Your sister is not well,” Balin told him solemnly, “I’m afraid she has fallen silent, following the madness of your father and grandfather. She has uttered some dark things to her maids, Thorin, she will not open up to anyone.”

Thorin glanced down, as this sounded all too familiar to him.

Balin stepped closer, “You are all she has,” he reminded him, “It is your duty to counsel her. Do it for her sons.”

Thorin’s eyes met his sternly, “What has she been telling the maids?” Balin shook his head in hesitation, “The most melancholic things, things that I would never utter myself. By what I have heard, all the light within her has faded.” Balin’s response troubled Thorin deeply, enough to make him rise from his rose in urgency and storm to confront her. Her room had been kept locked for her privacy and solitude, but Thorin always wore a master key given to him when he was crowned King. He unlocked the door and opened it aggressively. Dís laid on her back, dressed completely in black as she did every day after Vili’s death, not a single braid or bead in her dark hair, and her skin was pale with sadness that contrasted strongly with the clothes she wore. It was if she was lying on her own tomb.

“You can sulk and lie in your misery and leisure all you wish, you may weep about your husband as long as you want, but you will not give up on your sons, or your life,” Thorin growled, is own words, knowing they were true, affected him deeply, “Your sons have lost more than they should have, and now you lie here rotting your spirits away, completely neglecting them. _They_ do not deserve that, and you know just as well as I that Vili would never have wanted this for them…I will not lose you as well, Dís!”

Dís sat up slowly, brought her knees up, buried her face into them, and then lifted her head so that her weary eyes met Thorin’s, “You do not understand,” she said, her voice broken and wavery, almost ghost-like, “I loved him,” she whispered, “I gave my heart to him and now he is gone,” she muttered, “He took it with him,” she said under her breath. Her voice gave Thorin an unsettling chill, it was dying and growing fainter the more she spoke, “I do understand,” he argued, “You should know—” Dís glared at him and hissed, “You have never _loved_ anyone!” The accusation stabbed him like a dagger, almost breaking his barrier, but he composed himself.

“He left behind his blood, does that mean nothing to you?”

Dís became silent and looked away.

Thorin grew angrier, “You will not ignore me, Dís,” he ordered.

Silence was all he was given.

“I am not speaking to you as your brother, I am speaking to you as your _King_ and I demand that you step out that door and _look_ at your sons!”

There were now tears at the brim of her eyes, she buried her face back into her knees, “I cannot look after them,” she mumbled, “Not on my own, not without Vili…every time I see them, I see him!” Though he was still facing the aftermath of her accusation, Thorin sat on her bed, close enough to be some sort of comfort but just enough to leave a gap between them, “Would you not want to keep his image alive? As long as his sons are alive, _he_ is still alive. You do not know them as well as I do, they carry his best aspects, and like him, they still love you very much; I am more of a father to them than you are a mother to them, and you know what it is like to grow up without a mother.”

There was a pause, and he let it stay for a good, long moment, before continuing.

“You will not be alone, we can do this together.”

She finally slightly lifted her head, just so that her brown eyes could be seen through her messy, dark bangs that looked just like Kili’s. At that moment, she was a child again and she was once again soothed by her older brother’s reasoning and encouraging tone, even after many years of her inherited stubbornness. It was as if she was cured, she brought down her legs and flung herself onto him, embracing him tightly. To his surprise, she was warm, and he could sense her gradual rise in happiness by the increase in her breathing; there was life in her! The thought that Thorin could lose his sister, that last connection of immediate family, had scared him. He found himself growing his own tears, though they did not leave his eyes, and whisper, “I do not want to lose you, Dís.” Growing confidence and her usual assertion, she released him and placed her hands on both his shoulders, “I don’t want to lose you either, Thorin.”

 

The next morning, a couple hours passed sunrise, Thorin went outside to check the sky, but it was solid grey with cloud and cast the land with a blanket of plainness; the Sun was blocked completely. This troubled him, as no one would ever purposely go see the Gulf in such solemn and grim conditions. Nonetheless, there must have been _something_ to see, there was no point in going back now. He went back inside to wake up Fili and Kili, but they were already awake, dressed, and filled with eager grins. Thorin smiled at their efforts and stopped before them, “Go and get the blanket and wait outside the gates with it. I will go and bring her out,” he instructed. The two nodded and dove back into their room where they had kept the blanket. Thorin walked past their room and went towards Dís’ room, when the door flew open and three maids clad in grey and white came out and stood in front of him. They smiled brightly and enthusiastically, as if they couldn’t stop smiling if they wanted to try.

“You’ve come to fetch her, my lord?” The middle one asked.

“I have.”

The first one interjected excitedly, “She’ has really changed! She got out of bed all by herself! She even m—” Dís suddenly walked out of her room, her head high with pride and a smile of casual contentment. She wore one of her green dresses, which no one had seen for many years. She wore many braids in her hair, all with gold beads, and her sideburns and chin-beard were properly brushed. It was if the old Dís had taken a leave of absence and she suddenly reappeared like nothing had happened. The maids watched her in admiration and pride of her, Thorin couldn’t help but do the same. Dís walked past him, “Stop gawking at me, brother! I want to see my little boys!” Thorin caught up quickly, especially because he wanted to correct her, “Your boys are not so little as you remember,” he muttered. She gave him a sharp glance at his outfit, a common activity among Dwarf women, “That fur coat makes you look fat,” she commented. Thorin pulled his coat inwards to close it, covering up his blue tunic that he had repeatedly worn ever since he took his position in Ered Luin, “What does it matter? I have no one to impress,” he grumbled. “Wearing _that_ , you don’t,” she argued, her eyes then flashed up to his open collar, for he was not fond of covering his throat with the constrictive fabric of a tunic’s collar, “And is that what you are teaching my boys, how to catch a cold?”

Thorin frowned and pulled the right furred-shoulder of his coat to block her view of his neck, “It’s good to have you back, Dís,” he grumbled.

When Dís and him stepped outside, Fili and Kili were waiting, each carrying a folded side of the blanket. They gaped at the sight of their mother, and she did the same to them. Kili dropped his end and ran to her, “Ma!” He flew into her embrace, she held him tightly and laughed cheerfully, “My little Kili!” Thorin walked past the warm image, because Fili stood still with hesitation and uncertainty. He took the blanket from him and put an encouraging hand on his shoulder to urge him towards Dís. Still hesitant, he approached his mother gradually, but she was quick to include him in the embrace and whispered something to him that was inaudible to Thorin. Whatever she told him, it made him feel better and gave him the power to hug her tighter. Thorin presented Dís the blanket that he, Fili, and Kili went through much trouble to retrieve, but she shockingly refused it, claiming that the only gift she could accept was seeing her sons and reconnecting with him. Though her reasoning had been thoughtful, Thorin glanced down at the blanket with slight disgust, he had gone through a lot of trouble for no valid reason…what was he to do with a blanket from Rohan? Not wanting to waste any more time, he was forced to carry it with him during the venture.

 

The four headed south on the west side of the Blue Mountains. A river stood between them and the Sea in the far distance, it carried the waters of Little Lhûn back into the Gulf, which would ultimately repeat itself over and over unless it went north past Lhûn or east towards the Hills of Evendium. The Sea was too far to make out, all one could see was a blue strip parallel with the horizon. When Thorin first taught Fili and Kili about the Sea, they were amazed to know that there was an endless abundance of fish and other creatures both known and unknown in the Sea, and that somewhere lied a place for the immortal elves and the creators of the World, though no Dwarf or mortal had ever ventured there. Kili was the most curious of the two, he constantly kept his eye on the alluring blue horizon. One would think that after being isolated and inside for many years that Dís would be astounded by the view and beauty of the outside world she had long forgotten, but she was not. She kept her head high and she was completely comfortable with what was around her, like she had gone outside before and saw everything already.

Thorin never truly understood his sister, though she would certainly say the same about him.

The sky continued to be grey and there was no indication that this would ever change today. Thorin trailed behind his sister and her sons, even though it was he who knew where to go. Fili and Kili stayed close to their mother, they told her everything they had learned from Thorin, what they had read in their studies, and all the weapons and combat they learned how to use. To the latter, Dís halted and turned to Thorin sharply, “You taught my boys how to fight?!” Thorin halted in a flinch from the outburst, keeping a fair distance from her, “Of course I did,” he said, “They must learn at some point so that they will become fine warriors.”

“I don’t _want_ them to be warriors!”

Fili and Kili looked up at her in shock of her words, Thorin shared this shock and quickly closed the gap between them, “You expect the Heirs of Durin to have no knowledge in combat? It is their birthright to learn how to fight!” To this, Dís struggled to argue, even _she_ knew how to fight and that was because _she_ was a Durin herself. However, she could not have her sons follow the fate of her husband, it would destroy her, send her to the abyss of sorrows, never to return; it would cause her to do great immoral acts that would forbid her to have halls of her own. There was only one argument that she could make.

“ _I_ am their _mother_ and _I_ say that _they will not be warriors_ ,” she proclaimed, aggression ringing in her tone.

Fili turned on her, showing great anger, “I _want_ to be a warrior, mother! I _want_ to be like father; I _want_ to fight for our people and seek vengeance for him!” Kili broke off from their mother’s side and joined Fili’s holding his hand brotherly, “Me too! Uncle is right, it’s in our blood!”

Dís stayed silent, and never spoke of the matter again until sixty years later.

 

The three gradually slowed down to Thorin’s position. Fili and Kili were first to join him after the brief quarrel, then later Dís joined them because she did not want to travel alone and sought reconciliation, Thorin accepted it by letting her join them. Dís appeared to be one of those Dwarvish mothers that could not be reasoned with right away, of course, she was _his_ sister after all. The Gulf could easily be seen at this point, it was just a blue as the distant sea, thanks to the grey sky. Though as they grew close to a hill that overlooked the Gulf, they saw that the Gulf was a very dark blue in colour, just a shade darker than Thorin’s tunics; like a cloudy midnight sky in which no stars made their presence. To the eyes of a Child of Ilúvatar, this colour was depressing and disturbing, so much that it would cause them to look away to preserve their spirit. However, to the Children of Aulë, it was almost mystifying and enchanting; Dwarves liked the dark whenever there was no light from gem or coin, though it was this likeness that drove most Dwarves to sorrow. The water, thus, had a velvety look; and sometimes, when the most minimal of light landed on the very surface of the waves, it appeared like little mountain ranges or rocks, much to a Dwarf’s taste. Dís was the first to mention her admiration of the Gulf when they reached the top of the hill, claiming how soothing and calm it seemed to be and how its sound was pleasant to her ear. Thorin did not share his perspective, for he was not sure how he felt; though it was very charming and appealing to him, he could not conjure a feeling for the Gulf of which he could name; it was as if without even seeing himself in the Gulf, he could see his reflection just by the water itself.

“I want to touch it!” Kili cried, then raced down the hill to get closer to the water.

Fili soon bolted after him, “Kili, no!”

Dís came out of her trance and gasped at the sight of her sons nearing danger, shouting, “What are you two doing?! Get back here right now!” Her cries alerted Thorin, who gave his full attention to his nephews.

“Uncle said not to near the water!”

Kili halted at the edge of the ledge that was about three feet above the water and dropped down to his knees to look down at the water, “I won’t fall in!” He leaned forward and stretched his hand out towards the water as far as he could, but his arm was not long enough, and he had to lean more with his entire body. To try and not fall in, he kept a firm hand solid to the ground. Despite this, Fili was quick to grab him and try to pull him away. Kili fought back, complaining, “I want to touch it! Let me touch it, Fee!” Fili pulled as hard as he could, “No! I won’t let you!” Soon, the two were bickering and pulling each other roughly both towards and away from the water. Meanwhile, Dís continued to call them back in an increasingly frustrating tone, threatening severe consequences; however, her sons were not used to her authority and were not daunted by the consequences; they continued to fight dangerously close to the water.

Thorin dropped the blanket and stormed down the hill.

Fili sensed the incoming presence of their most likely enraged uncle and weakened his grip just as Kili decided to pull forward. Kili let out a shout in panic as he fell face-first into the water. Fortunately, this northside of the Gulf was shallower than it was further south and would not have been too deep for the Dwarfling, though he did submerge completely, and it was a heart-stopping, scary moment before one could see his head bob up and down. Thorin, who had anticipated this to transpire long before he stepped out of Ered Luin, was quick to jump in and scoop up his nephew. When he stood, the water was at his waist, just above Kili’s height. Kili shivered against him, already muttering his apologies, but Thorin was not overly cross with him, surprisingly.

“It was an accident,” he told him, “I would have been more upset if you intentionally jumped in, but you did not, you tried not to fall.”

Dís rushed to the ledge and helped Thorin climb back up, while Kili clung to him with puzzlement and astonishment that Thorin was not furious with him. Fili stood with great shame and guilt, for he thought that it was himself who let Kili fall, this was the look of Thorin over eighty years ago and that stayed with him for many decades afterwards. As Dís took Kili from him, he went to Fili and told him what he could never tell himself, “This was not your fault.” Fili watched in a submissive glance as Dís climbed up the hill with Kili in her arms, picked up the blanket, and wrapped Kili in it, “He wouldn’t have fallen if I hadn’t let him go, it _is_ my fault!” He looked back at the enchanting water, which now had a stain in his memory, “This was supposed to be a good day, nothing was supposed to happen!” Thorin smirked, “You underestimate the world, Fili, nothing is ever perfect…especially your brother, and especially you. If the world was as perfect as we wanted, Kili would not need you.”

Fili looked down, “I hope he will forgive me.”

Thorin put his hand on his shoulder as they began to climb back up the hill, “It is time that I told you about Frerin’s death.”

 

There were tall, smooth rocks near where the Gulf began to narrow; one could climb up onto them and look over the entire Gulf and a beautiful view of the Sea from this point. Occasionally, the white ships of Mithlond heading for the Undying Lands would float by, straight for the Sea until they were just a speck of white in the distance. Unfortunately, the ships did not travel in such gloomy and suspicious weather. Thorin took his nephews to this point to share the story of their unknown uncle’s demise, Fili was old enough, and Thorin trusted that Kili would take something out of the story. Dís, however, was not interested, and decided to walk up and down the way they had came to admire the water more. Along the way, however, she did tell Fili and Kili what Frerin was like when he was alive and how good he had treated her when she was a Dwarfling. Thorin was quick to point out that Frerin acted very much like Kili, which Kili was naively proud of. The story that Thorin told them at the rocks was made up of numerous accounts of those who had survived the Battle of Moria and had witnessed aspects of what had happened to young Frerin. They had came to Thorin during the final years of their lives to tell their version as a final testimony that would make their deaths peaceful and lighter in burden.

_Once Thorin had left his side, Frerin was left to fight in the company of some axe-wielding warriors. From the gates of Moria, a few larger, commanding orcs entered the battlefield; they were larger than any Man or Elf, which gave the Dwarves a significant disadvantage. They waded through the sea of Dwarves, tossing and throwing them brutally aside with their maces or cleavers. Some Dwarves headed to the direction in which Thorin had left him, the leader had finally showed himself. Frerin faced an oncoming orc with five arrows still in his quiver and his sword handy just over his shoulder. Just before this orc went to thrust some Dwarves aside, Frerin aimed and shot him in the chest with an arrow. The orc’s tiny, beady eyes narrowed on him, but he did not slow down. Frerin froze briefly in shock, he was sure that he had penetrated a lung! He aimed and shot again, and again, but the orc only increased in speed and anger. Now in panic, Frerin used his final two arrows on the orc’s throat. The orc finally halted and gagged as it tried to roar and growl, its hands were at the arrows, trying to pull them out. Not trusting the orc would die quickly, Frerin took out his sword and charged at the beast to finish it off once and for all. The orc grabbed him aggressively and threw him hard on the ground, the impact made Frerin release his sword and lie in shock, as the wind was knocked out of him. The orc picked up Frerin’s sword and, with blood draining from his throat and chest, stabbed Frerin through the abdomen. Some of the soldiers who had seen this all charged at the orc and pummelled it in fury and vengeance, for it had killed an heir of Durin on His own grounds._

“Uncle Frerin was a warrior too?” Kili asked enthusiastically. Thorin gave him a nod, “The bow and arrows that were in your room belonged to him.” Kili sprang up to his feet and held his arms out as if he were aiming with a bow, “I want to be just like Uncle Frerin!” Thorin glanced up, “I’m sure you will have no difficulty with that,” he muttered. Fili looked up at Thorin eagerly, “Does this mean that I can be like you?”

“Why not.”

Kili gasped loudly and bounced up and down, “Fili! Fili! Let’s play Uncles!” Fili rose in excitement and the two hurried down the rocks and headed towards some trees, Fili mentioned how he wanted to find a log-shield like Thorin’s. Kili began to rummage through various twigs and branches until he came upon a curved branch and a few long twigs. From where he sat, Thorin could watch and hear Fili and Kili pretending to be Frerin and him; Fili exaggerated his grumpy attitude and battle cries, while Kili imitated Frerin’s pride and cockiness. When Dís approached them, they pretended she was an orc and pretended to attack her, which Thorin found quite amusing.

“Be gone, fowl orc!” Fili cried.

Kili circled his mother, “These are Dwarvish sacred lands! Fall to my arrows!”

Dís was quick to understand the game and played along by making poorly imitating roars and chasing them to try and stomp on them. Thorin was not interested enough to join them, instead, he took out his pipe and tobacco as he watched them play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to delay my postings to once every two weeks. I think after this chapter I will focus in on Thorin's relationship with his closer comrades.
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 135  
> Dís’s age: 121  
> Fili’s age: 22  
> Kili’s age: 17


	23. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Members of Thorin's company take Thorin on a camping trip

So there were some times when Thorin did not take part in everyday activities with his nephews, as Dís was quick to catch up with the present surroundings and become the mother she should have been decades ago. Thorin was given the responsibility of teaching her sons whatever she couldn’t, particularly combat and skills used outside the Mountains’ halls. At first, Thorin did not mind it, as he understood how important it was that Dís take the active role in her own sons’ lives, but as the weeks went by he realized that he greatly missed the bright and naïve presence of his nephews. Both Fili and Kili had mentioned that they too missed Thorin’s presence, saying that Dís was very overprotective and treated them like Dwarflings when they were treated with dignity around Thorin. Fili was particularly upset by this change, as with Thorin around he could practice his knife-skills whenever he wanted and learn how to be dignified and stoic like him; he had spent most of his life with Thorin and looked up to him as a father instead of an uncle, conjuring up wonderful images in his mind whenever he spoke about Erebor and all the glories of it and hoping that one day he would see it for himself and be able to walk those halls and call them his own. And though Thorin loved both his nephews the same, he saw himself in Fili, for he once longed to own Erebor’s halls but since had been robbed of that dream.

 

Because of the lack of constant presence of his nephews, Thorin resorted to his kin for company once again. Bofur once invited him and the other nine to a camping trip up the Blue Mountains. When he and his brother and cousin were young they often camped up the Blue Mountains, since they had a great view of the peaceful West eastward and the Sea westward. Over time, however, Bombur had grown fatter and refused to make the trip. This time, however, they wanted to see if they could pry some small amount of joy out of Thorin and Bombur gave up his personal objection. Balin and Gloin, however, had prior engagements and could not participate. Bofur was a light-hearted Dwarf who cared for everyone and everything he saw; he was the most empathetic of all the Dwarves Thorin knew personally and was best known for cheering others with a song, joke, or excursion. Thorin hadn’t camped-out since he first stepped foot in Ered Luin so long ago but knew that he would have to relive the experience at some point if he were to journey back to Erebor in the future, so he agreed to the trip. They left in the late afternoon because Bofur had said that the area he knew was best for camping wasn’t that far from the gates. The group had brought food, blankets, water, and utensils enough for everyone and each Dwarf carried their own heavy sack over their shoulders. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur led the way up the mountain, following a path which they were most familiar with; Oin, Dori, Ori, Nori, and Dwalin, in that order, followed behind them. Thorin stayed beside Dwalin, his closest cousin of the others. The rocky slopes of Ered Luin were much kinder and easier than those of the Misty Mountains and Erebor, Erebor’s were the most rugged and could only be truly scaled by mountain goats or rams who were born to endure treacherous slopes. Dwalin climbed the rocks with a hint of joy in his step that was much unlike him, so much that Thorin questioned him, “What has you so cheerful, Dwalin?” The taller Dwarf grew a smile and looked at him, “Just reminiscin’,” he responded, “Does this not make you remember that one time we tried to sneak over to the Iron Hills and I _heroically_ saved your arse from both the cliff-ledge and your father’s wrath?” Some of the Dwarves ahead of them looked over their shoulder at them in brow-raised shock of what they heard. Thorin felt a slight wave of embarrassment hit him yet frowned at them accusingly because he knew that most of them had done the same in their young life. Since they were all interested in knowing how on earth Thorin could possibly subject himself to misbehaviour, Dwalin insisted that he would share the story once they made a fire. Bofur finally came upon the camp-spot, the top of an overhang that looked out into the East; the view was so clear that even at night one could see the range of the Misty Mountains and the lights of the Shire and Bree shining like close, bright stars in a night sky. Bofur added that at the sun-up, the view of the sunrise was most beautiful at this point…though Thorin begged to differ, for he had seen the sunrise beyond the Lonely Mountain and it was much more pleasing to the eye. The area was flat, though there were some stray rocks that had to be moved by Dwalin and Dori. Oin, not just known for his apothecary practice but also known for his skill in fire-setting, quickly worked to make a fire in the middle with sticks he had brought with him and a special flint. The others, except Thorin, were very anxious because they wanted to hear the story so badly and even offered to help Oin to make the process quicker.

“Thicker? You _want_ me to make this more difficult?” Oin grumbled, just as he made a spark that landed on his pile of wood.

“No, we said _quicker_!” Nori snapped in irritancy.

Bofur, studying what Oin had said, commented, “Are your ears going out, Oin?”

Oin blew on the spark until the wood smoked and the spark grew in size and colour, then grumbled back, “My ears are fine, lad!”

Finally, the fire was made, and all the Dwarves gathered around the fire, for once refusing to eat or drink until Dwalin told the story. Thorin sat behind the circle, his face dark and grim with disapproval and annoyance.

 

_When Thorin was fifteen and Dwalin was twenty-five, a fell winter came upon the north-east. The snow was taller than any Dwarfling or Hobbit and on no account could anyone leave the halls of Erebor, for there was a great possibility that one could become lost or buried in the deep snow with no means of escape. Thorin had recently returned from a family trip to the Iron Hills just east of Erebor, for Thrór was the brother of Dáin’s grandfather, Grór. Their middle brother, Frór, had died in the Grey Mountains at the very early age of thirty-seven by a Cold-drake and it was after his death that the lordship went to Thrór until he decided to leave and found Erebor. Thus, Thrór and his remaining brother were very close until the Sack of Erebor. Thorin learned much from his great-uncle, but he enjoyed being in his cousin’s company more, as Dáin had access to much of the highly-advanced war-tools that the Dwarves of Iron Hills were infamous for crafting. However, Thorin’s family did not spend a great deal of time at the Iron Hills and there was much that Thorin wanted to see that Dáin could not show him at the time; because of this, Dáin promised Thorin that he would show him the rest on his next visit. Young Thorin was impatient and yearned to see more of the excellently crafted weaponry, intriguing battle-chariots that had long blades that stuck out past the wheels, and the allegedly impenetrable armour in the great armoury. Thorin was very aware of the terrible winter beyond the halls of the Mountain, for he overheard his grandfather ordering the guards to seal the gates as much as they could so no one could leave and that the snow and cold could stay outside. However, Thorin knew of a way out of Erebor that was somewhat risky but an able path for mountain goats._

_He went to Dwalin, his trusted cousin, and told him that he wished to go to the Iron Hills. Dwalin, also aware of the consequences, looked at him in shock, “But Master Thorin, did you not hear your grandfather’s words? It is too dangerous to go outside while the snow continues to fall and pile up like stone! We can wait until later to visit Dáin!” Thorin, being stubborn, argued, “I cannot wait! I am not afraid of snow! Besides, the Iron Hills are not too far away and not too hard to see!” Dwalin looked down at his cousin, weighing the risk in his mind but also considered that he would most likely be by his side and that, on his life, would not let anything happen to him. Yet even considering so, disobeying Thrór was dangerous in itself and he would probably get in much trouble from him for enabling Thorin to get himself into danger against his word. Dwalin’s gaze of uncertainty made Thorin frown and cross his arms, “Fine, I will go on my own if you are too scared to accompany me. Just know that I’ve told you so that you know where I am, should anyone ask for me,” he said, before storming off to his bedroom to prepare for the trek. Dwalin thought much and long over whether he should really join Thorin, amid the risks, and it was not until he later found Thorin at the stables when he decided to join him. Young Thorin beamed with joy and gratefulness that Dwalin had made his mind and decided to join him. Just after equipping the goat with some provisions he had stolen from the kitchen, he approached Dwalin and looked up at him proudly, then declared, “You will be my second in command!” Dwalin felt honoured that he was officially given the title, as Thorin had never clearly addressed him as such. He was also struck by the power of Thorin’s pride and tone of authority, he was so young and yet possessed the voice of a leader…those lessons from Thrór seemed to be working._

_After the two chose and prepared their goat mounts, Thorin and Dwalin left with their mounts at night after pretending to go to bed to ease their parents’ minds. Thorin led the way to an eastern passage that led to the eastern side of Erebor that faced the Iron Hills. This exit was unsupervised and forgotten because scouts only used the exit occasionally and was mostly unknown to commonfolk._

_The goats did not struggle too much with the snow, instead, they grunted and snorted stubbornly to the uncomfortably high snow. So much snow was falling that the night was as gray as the ground, creating a white-out, but as long as Thorin and Dwalin trudged on, they would, without doubt, arrive at the Iron Hills. The more they travelled, the more unsettled Dwalin also became, his goat gradually grew hesitant, which was rare for any battle-goat. He stayed behind Thorin, who still appeared daring and confident despite the weather…until his goat unknowingly stepped off the ground. Both the young prince and his mount vanished in the white, striking a great fear inside Dwalin’s chest. His mount instinctively halted and refused to go any further and meet its comrade’s fate._

_“Thorin?!” Dwalin cried loudly, immediately hopping off his goat and wading through the fading tracks of Thorin’s goat._

_Luckily, he could hear Thorin grunting and struggling, meaning that he hadn’t completely gone over the cliff. As Dwalin drew closer, the white dissipated to reveal that Thorin was clinging to the edge of the cliff, which was covered in an uneven height of snow that broke apart the more he tried to hold on. Dwalin dropped to his knees and held out his hand, “Grab my hand!” Just as Thorin reached his arm out, the snow he held onto fell apart, but Dwalin was quick to lean forward and grab his cousin’s stretched-out arm before he could fall and pull him up quickly with ease. Dwalin then stood up and abrasively brushed the snow off himself, “We’re turin’ back now! I’m not going another step further!” Thorin stood and looked past him, “Your goat is gone!” Dwalin turned to where he had left his goat, only to see nothing, not even tracks, as the snowfall was quick to cover up any tracks. Thorin turned ahead, “We’re so close! We must keep going, it will take us longer to get home if we turn back,” he argued. The snow was fairly deep on Thorin, it reached up to his upper stomach, while it only went just above Dwalin’s waist, “I will carry you if I must, but I think we should go home,” Dwalin countered. Thorin frowned in disgust at the suggestion, “You will not carry me!”_

_“Our mounts are gone! We have no choice!”_

_Meanwhile, Dwalin’s goat had ran all the way back to the eastern passage of Erebor and caused quite a stir inside the Mountain. Thrór and Thráin were both quick to figure out what had happened the moment they realized that Thorin’s goat was missing and both of the young Dwarves’ bedrooms were empty. Thráin decided to settle the matter himself, as he was gravely disappointed in his son’s misbehaviour. He took Balin with him, who was just as furious as he was, but more towards his younger brother than Thorin. They owned larger, braver goats, and left through the passage Dwalin and Thorin had gone through; both their fury encouraged the goats to move quicker through the high snow._

_Dwalin failed to argue with Thorin and he begrudgingly followed him towards the Iron Hills even though the snow slower grew higher on Thorin and made him struggle to keep his own lead. Dwalin suddenly heard the sound of snorting goats in the distance and halted, “Oh no, we’re done for!” Thorin halted and looked over his shoulder in defeat. The two goats came into view, and Thráin’s rage was easy to see through the snow screen, “What did your grandfather say about leaving the Mountain? You could’ve been lost or killed! I ought to lock you in your room after what you’ve done tonight, disobeying your grandfather, how disgraceful!” Thorin looked down submissively as he dealt the blows of his father’s words, which were soon accompanied by Balin’s, “This is not princely behaviour, Master Thorin, I expected better from you!” Dwalin couldn’t help but feel sorry for Thorin, he never once acted this way before this night, he just wanted to visit his kin and their wonders, that was the yearning of any Dwarfling. What Thorin tried to do was very daring and courageous for a Dwarfling his age, and Dwalin looked up to that. He stepped forward, his head high, “My lord, you must forgive your son. Yes, he did disobey Thrór, but not because he wanted to be reckless, he had a true purpose! He came to me for help and I trusted him, and so you should punish me because I did not stop him; I did not look out for his safety.” Thorin looked up at him in shock, and then to his father, “That is not true! He—”_

_Dwalin gave him a hard prod with his elbow. Thorin turned to him to object, but Thráin spoke first._

_“Very well,” he said, then looked to Balin, “You may deal with your brother as you will. We should return to Erebor before the snow rises too high.”_

 

Thorin glanced at Dwalin, his arms crossed, while the group gazed at Dwalin in surprise, “I never understood why you did that for me, I should have been punished that day,” he muttered. Dwalin chuckled and shook his head, “You know, Thorin, sometimes the best leaders are the ones who don’t follow the rules. If you had let yourself be punished that day, you would be uptight like my brother would never have spent time with me; you are the way you are because of me,” he said proudly, “You will understand one day what I mean, Darer.” Thorin glanced up and looked over at Bombur, “Bring out the sausages while this fire is still hot,” he ordered. As Bombur passed them around and Bifur handed out roasting sticks, there were many jokes and teasing concerning the sausages, which Thorin did not take part in but still found somewhat amusing. Bofur and Dori sprang up and started to duel with the sausages on the end of their roasting sticks, the Dwarves cheered and laughed as they fenced until Bofur poked Dori with his sausage, winning the duel. When hunger finally overcame their immaturity, the Dwarves sat around the fire and roasted their sausages in the flames of their campfire, they hummed and whistled as they waited for their meat to cook, Thorin kept with his own tune until the others slowly joined in and the sound was quite solemn and rich with deep, long humming.

_Far over the misty mountains cold…_

Communicating with Bifur was difficult because he could only speak Khuzdul, he even sang in Khuzdul! Since Bofur and Bombur were more accustomed to Westron because it was the tongue of the West, and therefore had difficulty understanding what Bifur was saying. The older Dwarves, such as Thorin, were very familiar with Khuzdul and often helped Bofur and Bombur learn how to understand their cousin. Bifur had been looking around anxiously since the fire was made as if the axe in his head had not made him crazed enough. Thorin often watched Bifur with concern until he finally asked while everyone was eating, “Bifur, what has you on edge?”

“ _Kobor aklât_ _!_ ”

Thorin frowned and furrowed his brows, “Animals? We are far from the ground, where are you hearing the noises?”

Bifur immediately pointed to some dense bushes behind him. Thorin watched intensively for a moment, the bushes soon shook, and some branches snapped as they shook, meaning that something or somethings were trying to look through the bushes and possibly stalking Thorin and his company for an attack. Just as Dwalin led an uproar of laughter, Thorin rose from where he sat and snapped, “Quiet! We are being watched!” The laughter died abruptly, and everyone rose with their bare roasting sticks in their hands, ready to stab whatever was behind the bushes. Thorin stepped forward, keeping his comrades behind him. The bushes shook more vigorously, enabling Thorin to want to act quickly; just as he made the move to stab the bush, two Dwarflings burst through the bushes. Thorin froze in surprise and dropped his stick, Fili fell completely on top of Kili after having pushed him through the bushes.

“Fili?! Kili?!”

The two scrambled to their boots and looked down submissively. The other drunken Dwarves laughed and dropped to the ground, Dwalin teasingly threatened to tell Dís that Thorin had raised a weapon to her boys. Thorin flashed him and the others deadly glare, silencing them, then focused on his nephews, “What are you two doing here all by yourselves at this hour?” Kili grinned and raised a finger, “Actually, we aren’t alone, we’re with you now!” Thorin let out a frustrated growl that told Kili to keep his smart-arsed remarks to himself. Fili swallowed and lifted his head high, “It was my idea, we just wanted to spend time with you. Mother isn’t as fun as you and we do not learn anything from her.” Bofur laughed, “Fun? Do you know how much effort it takes for your uncle to have any fun?” Thorin dismissed the comment and turned his nephews around firmly, “You two are going home right now, I will send Mr. Oin with you. It is far too dark and far for you to be here.”

Kili whined, “Please, Uncle, please let us stay!”

Fili turned back around, “We’ll be good!”

Thorin crossed his arms, “That is not what I am concerned about,” he grumbled, “The moment your mother finds out that you are gone she will have my beard!” Fili also crossed his arms, smiling with confidence, “Not if we return by sunrise, she will never know.” Thorin, impressed by Fili’s plan and confidence, grew a smirk, “Alright, you may stay. I will give you my blanket for the night and I will keep watch until an hour prior to sunrise.” Both Fili and Kili beamed with joy and dashed up to Thorin to embrace his legs. The Dwarves smiled and awed at the happy sight, some exaggerated because they were drunk but still enough to make Thorin grow warm with embarrassment yet also pride. He looked down at his nephews, “Now just stay away from the fire and the—”

“Come here, lads!” Bofur called, “There are a couple sausages left here!”

Fili and Kili bolted to Bofur excitedly, just as Dori went around and filled up the mugs with ale that Bofur had brought with him. This provoked Thorin to remind Bofur not to let Fili or Kili near the ale, which caused some discussion. Nori stood straight up, “Oi, I drank ale when I was their age and my mum was fine with it!” Dwalin cast him a glare, “And look at you now, you shady bastard,” he grumbled. Small amounts of ale did not harm Dwarflings, but Thorin was wary of the effects it would have on his nephews…particularly Kili. Oin suddenly chuckled loudly, “Ah yes, I recall young Frerin’s first mug, he stayed at my quarters for two days until I could let him go! And old Thrain was blazin’ and scoldin’ every minute of it!” Fili and Kili placed themselves near the fire and Bofur helped them to begin to roast their sausages, but both brothers were intrigued by the name of their unknown uncle being used by someone other than Thorin.

“You mean uncle Frerin?” Kili asked.

“Aye,” the old Dwarf responded.

Thorin sat behind his nephews to watch over them properly, “I do not know the event that you speak of,” he muttered. Oin sighed, “Your father was so embarrassed by it, he didn’t want anyone to know other than me and him.” Fili glanced at Oin, “What did he do, Mr. Oin?” Oin took a sip from his mug and sat back against an oak that he sat next to and told the story; Thrór once held a council of the Kings from the other Seven Houses in Erebor, it was an annual council, but it was on serious matters and did not call for a subsequent feast. It was held in the ceremonial hall, with a large, robustly carved stone dinner table placed in the middle of the grand hall. Only he, Thráin, and the other lords could be in the hall the entire day, and everyone understood this well so there was no need to station guards at the closed doors. Just before the meeting had begun, Frerin had entered the room while Thrór and Thráin were greeting their guests and hid under the table because he wanted to know what the meeting was about and was jealous that Thorin was able to be privy to every important aspect of the kingdom…except for private meetings. There were eight mugs already set out on the table, filled to the brim with ale, and while Frerin waited for the meeting the begin he grew thirsty and had remembered seeing the drinks on the table. When Thrór and his guests entered the halls, they found Frerin drinking down the entire mug of ale. Frerin quickly stood up onto the table and ran up and down it, giggling and knocking the other mugs down purposefully. Thrór, enraged and embarrassed that his kin were witnessing the misbehaviour of one of his heirs, ordered Thráin to remove Frerin from the room and not to return for the meeting. Thorin did not like thinking ill of his late-brother, but he shook his head and grumbled about how foolish Frerin had been, he then narrowed his eyes at each of the other Dwarves, “Then let’s not have what happened be repeated tonight, understood?” They all nodded. Suddenly, Kili’s sausage burst into flames and Kili let out a cry of panic. Fili, who was already eating his, mumbled, “I told you not to leave it in!” Bofur scrambled about, “Hurry! Get some water!” Dori held the canteen protectively, “We _need_ this water!” Dwalin rose and stomped over, then snatched the stick from Kili’s hands, “Here, lad, I’ll put it out,” he said, before taking a deep breath and blowing on the flames until they vanished into thick smoke. The smoke was extensive and harsh and made most of the Dwarves cough and grumble at Dwalin. Kili looked at his burnt and charred food with despair and pity, until Fili offered to share his with him.

When everyone decided to finally go to sleep, they all rolled out their blankets and sleeping sacks on the ground around the fire. Thorin gave his to his nephews, as they both could fit under his blanket, “Now I do not want to hear either of you complaining about sleeping together, it is already too far past your bedtime—”

“Enough with the parent-talk, Thorin!” Dwalin grumbled, tossing and turning in his sleeping sack.

“Goodnight, Uncle Thorin,” both brothers said together. Though Thorin was still irritated by Dwalin, he smiled at them as best he could, before moving to a tree near the edge of the cliff and sitting up against it to watch over the night as it trudged on through the West. Far into the dark distance he could still see the Misty Mountains and he spent his guard-time thinking about home, his true home, and his family that were brought up during the evening; he thought about Frerin and reminded himself that not all was lost of his memory, and he thought about his father who was still yet to be found; these were his greatest sorrows. He took out his pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it so that it’s softer smoke seeped into the night sky. The night was blue and grew lighter in shade as it stretched out further into the East. There was only one thing that could make him truly happy, and it was not a camping trip.

 

Thorin had unintentionally fallen asleep during the night, but Fili and Kili were clever enough to know when dawn would be and were up an hour before it, just as Thorin had promised to wake them up and take them home. Fili knew the way back and decided that there was no need to wake Thorin up, so he and Kili picked up the blanket, approached Thorin quietly, and placed the blanket over him as carefully as possible so that he would not wake up; then, the two hurried off before the dawn could catch them and their mother would wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only used sausages because A. they are a camping food and B. I played Lego The Hobbit and whenever I wanted to change between day and night I would have to bring my characters (100% of the time it was Thorin as my main) to a little camp and there was always this cute cut-scene where the two characters roasted sausages as the sun went down or went up so I kind of had that image stuck in my head as I was writing this. (https://guides.gamepressure.com/hobbit/gfx/word/449544836.jpg) Oh and if it seems that I'm using a lot of alliteration it's not because I'm obsessed with it, it's just that I just finished reading Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and almost every line is alliteration and it's still stuck in my head. I think I will either do one more company chapter or just skip right to the Fell Winter because there will actually be a real plot surrounding that and it will probably consist of multiple parts.
> 
> Someone once said that Thorin’s name meant “darer”
> 
> Kabâr aklât = animal sounds
> 
> Frór spent his short life in the Grey Mountains. He was slain with his father when a Cold-drake invaded the doors of the mountain palace. Shortly after they were laid to rest in the tombs of the mountain halls, the kingship was passed on to Frór's older brother Thrór. Durin's Folk then resolved to abandon the Grey Mountains. It was Thrór who founded the kingdom of the Lonely Mountain and led a portion of his people there.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Fr%C3%B3r)
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)
> 
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 135  
> Dís’s age: 121  
> Fili’s age: 22  
> Kili’s age: 17


	24. Spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Dwalin have a spar (TA 2884)

One spring morning, Thorin had sent Fili and Kili to train with Dwalin as usual. Of course, he could teach them himself, but along with his teachings he wanted his nephews to learn the tactics of the fighters of the Iron Hills that Dwalin had obtained, as they were the mightiest soldiers of all the Dwarf realms. He wanted Fili and Kili to be just as great as he was, for he knew nothing of what would stand before them in their lifetime as opposed to his own. After two short hours, Thorin was in the dining room having the rare ale, when Dwalin burst into the room, growling, “I cannot take—" He paused, as his eyes spotted Thorin’s ale mug with a quarter remaining, “Is that an ale?” Thorin frowned and took the mug by the handle, pulling it closer to him, “What of it?” He muttered. Dwalin grew a smirk, “What’s the occasion?”

“I was in the mood,” Thorin mumbled, “What do you want?”

Dwalin crossed his arms, “Your nephews are drivin’ me mad, Thorin!”

Thorin looked up at him, he wasn’t surprised that Fili and Kili would have gotten into some sort of trouble, but if it was trouble that Dwalin could not handle on his own then it must have been quite serious, “What did they do?”

“Those little smart arses won’t let me teach ‘em! It’s ‘Uncle Thorin’ this and ‘Uncle Thorin’ that!”

Thorin grew a smirk, “You are upset because they know I am better than you…I see,” he said, drinking from his ale, which reminded him that he needed to ask for a refill. Dwalin frowned, “You _are_ drunk, aren’t you? Even _you_ know that I am better than you in every type of weaponry and in strength!” Thorin pushed his mug far aside, then glared up at his cousin, “I never once admitted so…perhaps it is time we finally addressed this.” Dwalin sighed and lightened his frowned, “Well, Thorin, I would love to, but I really do not want to embarrass you in front of your nephews.”

“Or you are too afraid to try,” Thorin argued, “I will never lose my nephews’ respect, I am confident of that. Would you rather continue to hear them speak of how great I am, or will you accept my challenge and face me in a spar to see who is truly the greatest?”

Dwalin studied Thorin for a moment, “When was the last time you used your sword?”

“More recent than you think,” Thorin answered, keeping his smirk, “When was the last time you picked one up?” The taller Dwarf tensed, his face growing red with anger and embarrassment. Thorin knew well that he preferred his axes to a sword. “Fine, I accept your challenge! If I win, I get the bragging rights and I will continue to teach your little nephews; if you win, you will take over.” Thorin rose from his seat, the two shook hands on the deal.

“This time tomorrow?”

“Aye, and let your nephews watch.”

 

After the challenge was made, Thorin immediately took his sword, Deathless, outside to train. The spring air still lingered with the briskness of winter, so he took a bear-fur coat to wear over his casual clothes. Fili and Kili had caught him heading for the gates and began to follow him along the way. He hadn’t yet told them about the spar because although he believed he was confident in their admiration for him, he did fear to let them down as their sole role model. “Where are you going, Uncle?” Kili asked, looking up at Deathless in awe. Thorin glanced down at his nephews, “I am going to train the forest for a while.”

“Can we come with you?” Fili asked, “We want to train with you!”

“Not until you are old enough,” Thorin declined, “My methods are far more vigorous than yours’, you still need to develop your skills before you may face me.” Kili bounced ahead and grinned at him, “It is true that you are going to spar with Mr. Dwalin?” Thorin frowned and looked down at him, “How do you know about that already?” Fili caught up to his younger brother, “Mr. Dwalin told us, he said that we are going to watch! He was oddly excited about it, too!” Thorin rolled his eyes and sighed, “Yes, yes, it is true and that is why I am training.”

“We _know_ you’ll win, Uncle! You’re the best!” Kili said proudly.

Fili smiled, “Mr. Dwalin may be bigger than you, but you are a much better fighter!”

Thorin could not help but smile at his nephews’ confidence in him, “Alright, I will show you where I train. And when you are old enough you made use that area as much as you wish.” The brothers cheered and soon came up with a taunting chant directed at Dwalin that they would use during the spar. Thorin smirked at their ingenious chant, but said, “Now, lads, we are not going to disrespect Dwalin. This is a simple, friendly spar, and he is my closest cousin; he is kin and we do not dishonour or defile our kin no matter how brutish they are towards us. Nothing is stronger than kinship.” Kili crossed his arms, “We know, Uncle! You tell us all the time!” Thorin lowered his smirk, “That is because I know you will forget. Now, let’s go.”

The bare, muddy land outside Ered Luin would soon once again be vibrant with green grass and the budding green of nearby bushes, yet the pines of the forest were still as green as they were all winter. When Kili was even younger, he used to stick his fingers in the mud of springtime and draw a beard on his face because he was jealous of Fili’s ever-blooming beard. This year, after Thorin reprimanded him numerous times, Kili resisted the urge and instead decided to jump in puddles as the three grew closer to the forest. Fili stayed next to Thorin, admiring Deathless also, “Uncle, why did you name your sword Deathless?” Thorin stopped, keeping an eye on Kili, and withdrew Deathless from its leather holster that was made in Erebor and restored in Ered Luin, “Your grandfather had crafted this sword for me when I was born, it had no name or deed with it until he gave it to me here in Ered Luin. This was the very sword I used in Khazad-dûm, the awakening place of Durin the Deathless himself against the vile Azog; even though I lost my brother on that day, I believe that Durin was with us in our victory…and so I named this sword after him.”

“And what about the shield?”

“What shield?”

“The oaken-branch! Mr. Daín told us the story! Everyone calls you Thorin Oakenshield now!”

Thorin smirked, “Do they? I have never been addressed as such before…I do like it…but I left that thing behind,” he said. Fili gaped, “But you could have kept it!” Thorin returned Deathless back into its sheath, “What am I to do with an oaken-branch? It would have rotten away in a matter of days and that battle was over a hundred years ago!” Fili thought about the practicality; Thorin was right. Kili pointed to the forest eagerly, “Show us how you did it, Uncle! Show us how you fought with the oaken-branch!” Thorin sighed and continued towards the forest, “Alright, just this once,” he muttered.

 

There were a group of trees that stood almost in a ring in the forest, almost as if they were purposely placed in this fashion. It was ideal for Thorin because it helped him remember that an enemy could come from any direction at any time and so he had to have all angles of view covered. Along the way, Fili and Kili had spotted a fallen branch that was so large that they both had to carry it over to Thorin to show him; it was a bit small on Thorin, however, but it would have to do. The circling trees harboured many slashes and cuts from other times Thorin has trained in the area; some cuts were deep and others were shallow, some were controlled and others were not. The tallest slash was about six feet off the ground, a little less than a foot taller than Thorin. Fili and Kili both admired this, wondering curiously if orcs were really that tall.

“Aye, yet some are taller,” Thorin told them, “And they are not the tallest creatures on this earth,” he added.

He stood in front of his nephews and made them stay behind the circling trees so that neither of them got hurt. Thorin chose the tallest tree to represent Azog and remembered straight from his memory how the duel accorded. Holding the shield in his left hand and holding it up to shield his chest, he mimicked each blow Azog landed on his shield by jerking the oakenshield back and crouching back exactly how his body had received the power of the blow, then he would move the shield aside a bit to slash the tree; he repeated this three or four times, as he did not quite remember how many times he and Azog struck each other before Dain arrived onto the scene and finished off the filth once and for all. Fili and Kili were amazed and looked at each other, “Let’s find our own shields and do what Uncle did! Then we would be called Oakenshield too!” Fili suggested. Thorin frowned and dropped both his shield and his sword, “No,” he said sternly, “You will do no such thing.”

Both brothers looked up at him submissively, “But we want to be like you, Uncle,” Kili argued.

Thorin approached them, brushing off some wood debris that the tree had shed when he attacked it, “You must learn to be yourselves, you both possess skills that are unique to you and the world will recognize that when you finally enter it,” he explained. Fili thought, “But Mr. Balin always says that you are just like our great-grandfather!” Thorin frowned, “I am not him, I will not be like him. If everyone grew up to be their mothers, fathers, or grandparents, the world would never change,” he grumbled, “That is why I have the utmost faith in you two.”

The two grew red in the face with pride and confidence that their Uncle had spoken so highly of them.

Thorin raised his frown to a smirk, “Stay where you are, you may safely watch me practice from here.” He returned to the circle and picked up his sword, kicking the oaken-branch aside because he no longer needed it. He shifted closer to three trees on his left and performed a spin that struck all three trees and would have struck anything on his right side. After doing the same move but on his right, he was about to face a different tree in a duel to practice for the upcoming spar, until Fili raised his hand and waved in the air frantically.

“Yes, Fili?”

“Can you not attack all the trees from the center?”

To answer the question, Thorin stood in the center and held his sword out straight towards each tree; there was a five-inch gap between Deathless’ blade and each tree, “The blade is not long enough. I have not used this move in real combat, but I believe it is most efficient.”

To practice for his spar with Dwalin, Thorin focused on his agility and defence. Although Dwalin was slightly taller and heavier built than him, Dwalin therefore lacked the ability to land blows as quickly as him and he also knew that Thorin had a habit of not defending himself quickly. Though practicing defense was troubling for Thorin, especially because the tree obviously could not attack him for him to be able to defend himself and he had to rely on his imagination as to how Dwalin would most likely attack and where he would need to brace and protect himself. When Thorin was taking a break, leaning up against one of the trees, Fili got onto Kili’s shoulders on the tree that Thorin was duelling with and carved an image of Dwalin’s face into the bark with one of his knives. Thorin furrowed his brows at Fili, “Fili, I did not see you carry your knife with you on the way here,” he commented.

Fili scratched large, burly eyebrows on Dwalin’s face, “I always have my knives with me, Uncle!”

 

The next day, Thorin, Dwalin, and the other Dwarves gathered just outside the gates of Ered Luin. Originally, the others were not meant to be present, but Dwalin had told them that if they came to watch the spar, they could bet on who they wanted to win. Balin, Bofur, Bifur, and Dori betted on Thorin, while Oin and Nori betted on Dwalin…which angered him greatly. Gloin, evidently, refused to lay out any coin with any chance of him losing it; Bombur wanted to save his coin for more important reasons, all that concerned food; and Dori told Ori that he was far too young to understand the risks of gambling, especially on or against the King. The group stood on each end, siding with whoever they supported. Dwalin continually gave his brother glares because he had betted on Thorin instead of him, when Balin had already made it clear that he chose Thorin because he knew that Thorin could control himself far better than Dwalin. Fili and Kili stood on Thorin’s side, when he wasn’t looking the two would make taunting faces a Dwalin and point at their uncle proudly, knowing how great of a fighter he was. This only fuelled Dwalin’s rage and drive to perform excellently. Although Balin had bet, he was appointed to deliver the basic rules of sparring, it was more of a way to teach the Dwarflings how a spar worked so that no one actually harmed one another: the winning points of the spar is three, a point is earned when the attacker touches the opponent without having the opponent strike the attacker back, more points are earned if the attacker can touch the upper chest of their opponent successfully without injury, and only the weapons given are to be used to fight (no physical interference such as holding or grabbing) If any injury occurred, the injured fighter would receive the point as consequence for the other fighter. Since there was a history of unintentionally aggressive sparring, both Thorin and Dwalin wore chainmail that began at the end of the neck and ended at the middle torso instead of shirts and because the torso was not completely covered, it helped fighters focus on the contrast between chainmail and flesh.

When Balin gave the cue to commence, both swords clashed immediately. The contact of empowered iron made loud, abrasive sounds that excited everyone. Dwalin tried to aim for Thorin’s shoulders, which was a risky strategy on its own because the chainmail only reached as low as the middle of each bicep and one swift move could land an injurious blow. Deathless was quick to stop Dwalin’s blade from even reaching Thorin, making Dwalin growl in frustration; his anger allowed him to advance his sword straight onto the chest of Thorin’s chainmail. Thorin tried to graze Dwalin’s in a countering slash, but Dwalin teasingly stepped back…knowing that Thorin would not be able to reach him; Dwalin had won the first point. Thorin’s crowd hushed and mumbled while Fili and Kili crossed their arms at Dwalin, complaining how he wasn’t playing fairly and that if he hadn’t gotten angry, he wouldn’t have gotten the point. Thorin dismissed his peers; he was completely focused on the goal of victory and anything that would cause him to lose focus would be his downfall.

Balin returned to commence the second round. Dwalin held his head high with confidence when he and Thorin took their positions once again. The cue was given; Dwalin lunged forward with his longsword, but Thorin ducked and thrust Deathless upwards to touch just to the right of Dwalin’s right shoulder. Dwalin turned to his right to counter with a quick tap on Thorin’s back, but Thorin had already dashed to Dwalin’s left and his blow had missed. Thorin gained the point, giving his supporters their spirits back. Unfortunately, this was repeated; Thorin gained the next point and Dwalin gained the subsequent one. The Dwarves grew antsy with suspense and uncertainty because both Thorin and Dwalin proved their might in different ways and also hid their weaknesses well.

The final round was intense and robust. Thorin and Dwalin charged at each other with determined growls and flailed their swords wildly at each other, making the sounds from the beginning round return. At this point, Dwalin was able to keep up with Thorin and so Thorin could not make any swift moves as he had done in the second round without Dwalin quickly pursuing him. Dwalin still aimed for Thorin’s shoulders, even though both his points had been earned from his chest. Perhaps Dwalin believed that the shoulders would be quicker and easier to touch because they were more exposed than the chest. After dozens of missed and countered strikes from both Thorin and Dwalin, Thorin finally managed to perform his spin (he had wanted to display it for his nephews’ entertainment) and touch Dwalin’s chest. However, Dwalin was able to retaliate and grazed Thorin’s left shoulder. Thorin instinctively growled in frustration, which he hadn’t done during the whole spar but the fact that he had lost the opportunity of gaining the winning point using his signature move in front of his nephews finally angered him. The two returned to clashing swords, Thorin more aggressively and faster than before while also making sure Dwalin could not reach any weak areas without Deathless’ edge to stop him. Suddenly, a voice cried from the observers.

“Stop! Wait!”

Thorin halted to the sound of his eldest nephew and turned to him, Dwalin soon did the same, “What is the matter, Fili?” he asked.

Fili pointed to the ground, where drops of blood lay near Thorin, “You’re bleeding, Uncle!” Thorin looked at his left arm, a gash ran across his bicep horizontally just below the chainmail and blood was running down his arm and dripping onto the ground. He didn’t recall feeling any pain from Dwalin’s blow, but it was no doubt from him. Dwalin dropped his sword and gripped his beard with shame, “By Mahal’s beard! I’m sorry, Thorin!” Oin hurried to Thorin’s side to examine his wound, but Thorin gave Dwalin a comfortable smirk, “It is just a scratch, Dwalin.” Fili and Kili ran up to him, bouncing up and down with big smiles, “You won, Uncle Thorin! Mr. Balin says that you got a point!” Kili cried with joy. Thorin couldn’t help but feel shame, he truly wanted to have his nephews see him win far more heroically and without fault than what had transpired.

“Why did you keep fighting, Uncle? Didn’t you know that you were hurt?” Fili asked.

“I didn’t,” Thorin muttered, “And even if I had known, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

Kili grinned, “You are so brave, Uncle! I want to have a thousand wounds and still be able fight!”

Thorin frowned at him, “No, Kili, you do not want that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always forget how hard it is to write a fighting scene, I'm sorry if it's not entertaining...it looked so much cooler in my mind. I will be doing the events surrounding the Fell Winter in the next few chapters. Please don't expect consistent publishing from me because I might still be busy.
> 
> The rules for the spar are loosely based on the rules for sword and buckler sparring  
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.  
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Thorin’s age: 138  
> Fili’s age: 25  
> Kili’s age: 20


	25. The Fell Winter (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2911)

Fili and Kili, now being mature of age (yet not of wits), were now able to work very closely with their uncle in affairs of the Kingdom. Though they were still too young to understand how important these affairs were, Thorin continued to have complete faith in them and let them leave the Blue Mountains often to hunt or scout, but they were never to go past Dunland by themselves. Fili and Kili proved themselves to be able fighters under the cantankerous wing of Dwalin and their uncle, Kili impressed everyone he met with his archery and Fili was a proud yet caring character like their uncle…almost too proud. Fili often inquired about the Misty Mountains, the place where their father had died, and sought revenge. Although Thorin could sympathize with his nephew, he did not hesitate to tell him that he was far too young and unexperienced to pick fights with Moria orcs and seek revenge. Fili and Kili often served as escorts to merchants heading to Bree or Dunland, which gave them a fair pay and lots of experience of the world around them. Both brothers enjoyed travels through the Shire, they remembered their first encounter of the peaceful village and Fili always teased his brother whenever they saw the flowers grow in the gardens and shrubberies in the spring and summer and little Hobbits giggling and playing nearby. They sometimes saw Belladonna, who was always happy to see them and offered to show them her new home that her husband had built at the top of the hill, but they were pressed for time and could not stop to visit her and her husband.

Thorin occasionally felt the melancholy of his nephews growing up, even though his sister continued to treat them both like Dwarflings as if they had never grown at all. When they were younger, they were a source of optimism and joy for Thorin, but now they were to have a more mature relationship with him and the innocent joy was no longer appropriate. Kili did continue to do reckless activities that he used to do as a Dwarflings, but Thorin had always addressed this behaviour with scorn. One afternoon, Thorin and his nephews were travelling to Dunland for the first time, as there were some hunting grounds that the locals there knew well and only he knew the way there. Kili lagged behind the two and began to fire arrows at a thrush that flew tauntingly above them. Thorin was quick to annoyance and fear and halted to scold him.

“Kili, enough!” he snapped, “You could kill one of us!”

Kili glared up at the thrush as it once again dodged yet another arrow, which landed just behind Fili, “But they are spies!”

Fili crossed his arms, “Of whom?”

Not wanting to be stalled by an argument, Thorin answered, “We have no enemies here, we must keep moving.”

Balin began to urge Thorin to find himself a wife and produce an heir, amid his growing interest in Erebor and the dragon that still resided there. Thorin refused at every type of persuasion, be it polite or aggressive, until the two finally broke into a fierce argument over the matter. Balin stood before Thorin at the throne, his mind was clearly on a different matter, which had angered Balin deeply.

“Thorin, you must think of yourself and your future! Do you know that you are the very few of your line to not bear an heir?”

“I do not need children of my own; I have my nephews, this that not enough?” Thorin muttered, “I owe it to my forebears to reclaim Erebor. Now that Fili and Kili are old enough…”

Balin frowned, “You owe it to your forebears to continue your line, Thorin! That is far more important!”

Thorin flashed a glare at him, “I will not speak of this matter again, Balin,” he grumbled. He rose and walked past Balin to retreat to his chambers, when Balin spoke.

“Just give me your reasons, Thorin…I think you understand what I am saying but you are not accepting it. Why hold Erebor above yourself? You have led the survivors into prosperity! You are adored and praised by all of our people and yet you cannot look upon yourself and move on, why?”

Thorin halted, drew a broken breath, and turned to his most trusted counsellor slowly, “You know well what my family has endured and suffered, and it seems that peril has taken the hold of everyone and everything I have ever held dearly. I have wondered for many years if this indeed runs in my blood and what it would do to a wife and children; I do not want to pass any possible misfortune on to anyone else until we have reclaimed what was lost and bring hope and peace into every Dwarf realm that stands.” Balin could not help but feel sympathy for Thorin, he clearly expressed longing and sorrow in his tone but also determination; that Thorin would be happy with a family and continuous life in Ered Luin, but his heart was always set on the betterment of his people and the desires of his family. Thorin looked down, making the darkness of the halls darken his face, “You must understand this, Balin, and tell no one of this…that I am prepared to join my family, if only to do what they could not. If I am to endeavour in such a journey, I am to put my heart and being into it just as my grandfather did when he ruled Erebor at it’s mightiest; I want to die serving my people, not as a frail elder on a cold throne with no further purpose.” Balin was deeply inspired by Thorin’s words, though they were hard for him to hear, and assured him that he would no longer pester him on any relating matter and that he had his full support should he find the means to start an expedition to Erebor.

 

In 2911, a strong winter struck the West with a thick blanket of snow and ice across what once used to be grassy hills and lush trees, and the fact that it had occurred before the threshold of winter was even more devastating for those who relied heavily on farming and travelling. However, the ones who suffered the most were the inhabitants of the Shire. In Ered Luin, most Dwarves had private stashes of food of their own to last themselves many months, but those who relied on travelling to work or trade were barred from doing so by the accumulating snow and ice. Some Dwarves, however, were resilient and refused to succumb to the fell winter; they made several various devices that would glide themselves across ice or keep themselves from sinking into snow. Life was not the same as it had been before, but it was certainly better than what was happening in the Shire.

From Thorin’s sources, scouts that were situated in the North and south-east between the Blue Mountains and Dunland, the Shire was in great fear of famine. He was greatly concerned by the news, especially because he had made an acquaintance there who had helped him so long ago and his heart told him that he should do something to help the Hobbits because it would be hypocrisy and dishonourable to not send aid. When he received the news, Fili and Kili were in his halls with him, along with Balin as usual, and openly expressed their same concern he had. They were both much more passionate and open about their fondness of the Hobbits.

“Uncle, we must do something!” Fili said, “They could perish!”

Thorin said nothing, thinking profusely.

 Balin sighed and shook his head, “We have no means of getting there. Our mounts would not make it there even without pulling loads.”

Kili quickly grew furious, “I will carry loads myself if I must! I will make dozens of trips if that is what it takes to save them! They would do the same for us!” Fili kept his gaze on Thorin, who had not reacted to anything anyone had said, “You know it is right, Uncle.” There was a great silence, the room was soon tense with anticipation. Thorin finally glanced at Balin, “Balin, find Bofur and bring him here,” he said. Balin hesitated before leaving the halls.

“Mr. Bofur?” Kili asked.

Fili thought, “I remember him talking about something someone had built…”

“A large sleigh, large enough to pull large loads of lumber across the snow without sinking too deeply,” Thorin said. Kili looked outside the open doors, “Do you think we can get enough food for them?” Thorin rubbed his beard and looked in the same direction, “That is what I am concerned about. Many of them have never even stepped foot in Hobbiton, I have still only entered there once.”

“Once was all you needed to know how decent they were!” Fili added, “They will have to help if they see that you are partial to the Hobbits!”

Thorin glanced down, “I would not say I am partial to them, but I owe Belladonna a great favour.”

“I hope she is alright,” Kili muttered.

Thorin grew a small smile, “I have no doubt she is quite alright.”

Balin returned with Bofur and another Dwarf. Bofur introduced him as Mr. Maggus, a merchant of two-hundred years of age. Mr. Maggus immediately bowed to Thorin before being asked about his sleigh, “Aye, I’ve used that thing for decades and it hasn’t failed me yet! I built it during the Long Winter in 2758 and it saved my arse from loosing my reputation!” Thorin smiled, “Very impressive, Mr. Maggus. I must ask you, with regret, that we use your sleigh to make a very large transport. I will pay you in full for any pay disruptions you may experience—”

“Oh, are you planning on helping those poor buggers in Hobbiton?”

“Yes,” Thorin answered.

“Take it!” Maggus said, “Take it for as long as you need! Just…I ask that you not wreck it, it is my proudest work.”

Thorin rose from his throne to face the old Dwarf directly, “I will personally see to it that your sleigh is unharmed.” With that, the Dwarf happily left, most likely because he was going to receive his pay without having to step out into the dreadful weather. Balin approached Thorin, taking Maggus’ position, speaking quietly, “How will we convince everyone to give up their food for the Hobbits?” This was the very question Thorin had been in the middle of trying to answer. Bofur suddenly appeared between them, “The Hobbits? Not to worry, we are very fond of them! That sleigh will be filled in no time!” Bofur turned to Fili and Kili, “Come on, lads! We might as well start going around now!” The three hurried out of the room to solicit to every Dwarf that resided in the Blue Mountains.

Thorin returned to his throne, “Balin, write back to the scouts. Tell them to keep a closer eye on the Shire.”

“Aye, laddie.”

 

The sleigh was brought out to the gates. It was about six feet in height and made out of strong lumber that was replaced every few decades. It would be pulled by a team of the Kingdom’s toughest ponies. The moment the sleigh arrived at the gates, many Dwarves began to line up behind it to put what they were willing to part with into the sleigh. Bofur was able to easily persuade most of whom he knew personally to help, while others needed further persuasion. Fili excelled in this, as Thorin often expressed his fury towards the elves of Mirkwood to his nephews, “Would it not feel good to know that you helped someone in need, even if you do not know them at all?” he would say, “They certainly don’t deserve what they are suffering through, no one does. That’s why we should help them!” There were sacks of grain, bread, meats, starches, fish, and cheeses that were being piled onto the sleigh that would last the village at least the next two months. By the time the sleigh was full, the sun had gone down, and it was imperative that the sleigh leave as soon as possible while the Sun was down. Thorin did not hesitate to take part in the delivery or allow Fili and Kili to accompany him. Some soldiers were appointed to also join them to help distribute the food when they arrived at the Shire; they would be led by Dwalin, who was not very fond of having to bear through the harsh winter but was doing it solely because Thorin had asked him to take part. There were others who wanted to help as well, but Thorin would not risk anymore lives. He had just put on his fur coat that he had recently received from the East, when Balin hurried over to him at the sleigh.

“Thorin! It is not safe out there!”

Thorin, annoyed that Balin had suddenly changed his mind, turned to the sleigh, “We must leave now, Balin. I can assure you that the snow will not kill me,” he grumbled. Before Balin could counter, his brother put a firm hand on his shoulder, “I’ll look after him, brother.”

“I heard that,” Thorin snapped, “I do not need to be guarded.”

Fili and Kili climbed onto each side of the sleigh, giving the signal to everyone that they were ready to depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no evidence that suggests that Ered Luin helped the Shire at all. These chapters basically are meant to tease towards the Quest of Erebor.
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)
> 
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.
> 
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Like the earlier Long Winter (T.A. 2758 – 2759), the Fell Winter began in November. This time Sauron was not able to launch a full attack, as the War of the Dwarves and Orcs of a full century earlier had eliminated most of the Orcs in the north, and the Haradrim had been badly defeated in 2885.
> 
> The winter was also less harsh than the Long Winter, and snow and ice stopped in Eriador at the Greyflood River, and in Wilderland in the middle of Mirkwood. Nevertheless, there were severe problems, as food again ran short, and the Hobbits of the Shire were attacked by White Wolves which crossed the frozen Brandywine river. It was on this occasion that the Horn-call of Buckland had been sounded; it was not heard again until Black Riders invaded Buckland in 3018. Gandalf and the Rangers of the North had to provide food for the Hobbits to prevent them from dying of hunger.
> 
> In March when the winter ended great floods of meltwater rushed down Greyflood, and the city of Tharbad was ruined and its bridge broken. The people of Enedwaith also suffered greatly as their lands were flooded.
> 
> ( http://www.tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Fell_Winter_(Third_Age) )
> 
> Thorin’s age: 165  
> Fili’s age: 52  
> Kili’s age: 47


	26. The Fell Winter (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TA 2911)

The weather had just as severe as everyone expected. Snow fell in all directions, thanks to the bitter, harsh wind that seems to take an immediately dislike to the Dwarves and their ponies. So much snow fell that no one could see anything in front of them and it was only until the very last moment when a familiar tree or hill would reveal itself did Thorin know which direction they were heading. The Lhûn had froze solid, so they did not need to travel through the Grey Havens to cross it on this occasion. The sleigh glided across easily and the ponies were given a brief break from trudging through the snow.  Despite the villainous weather, the ponies were just as stubborn as Dwarves and would not halt for even the strongest gust of snow in their poor faces. Fili and Kili, sitting on each side of the sleigh, talked to each other through the railings to pass the time. Both brothers hid from the snow by pulling their hoods far over their heads and facing away from the wind.

“Are you cold, Kili?” Fili asked.

Kili glared at his brother for asking such a question.

“Let’s talk about warm things, that should help us!”

“Like what?”

Fili thought, then smiled, “A fire! A nice, _warm_ campfire!”

Kili smiled back, “The Sun! Nothing is hotter than that!”

“Fresh biscuits!”

Both eyed a fur-covered basket they knew contained biscuits, but soon looked away from it in order to not give in to their desire. Fili joked that if either of them were Bombur, he would have taken the biscuits without a single thought. Kili looked down at a couple of soldiers walking close to his side of the sleigh, “Oi, you two! Name something warm!”

The first one thought for a long while, then responded in a chuckle, “My bed!”

The two soldiers laughed, Kili was quick to join them. The second soldier added, “I bet my beard is warmer than your bed!” The first soldier frowned, “I think not!”

“Go on, feel it!”

The first one felt his comrade’s beard with one hand and scoffed, “It may be, but it is not warmer than mine!” The two laughed again, Kili could not join their laughter this time.

“Thank Durin for blessing us with beards to keep our faces warm!”

“Oh wait, you still don’t have one, do you lad?”

Kili turned away, as he had only been able to grow stubble when other Dwarves his age already had full beards. Fili suddenly sat beside him and barked at the two laughing soldiers, “Keep moving before you both sink into the ground and we have to dig you up!”

Thorin and Dwalin travelled in front of the ponies to make sure that they continued to head in the right direction. Fortunately, they had not yet strayed from their intended path, giving Thorin much confidence that they would arrive before sun-up. The snow did not bother him, even when it tried to irritate him by blowing into his face and getting caught in his beard. As soon as Thorin saw what he believed to be the Tower Hills, he knew that they were very close to arriving in Hobbiton.

“Why are we doing this again?” Dwalin grumbled, pulling his dark green hood over his shaved head and brushing snow off his beard vigorously.

Thorin halted for a moment, as he sensed that the ponies were a bit too far behind for his liking, “I owe someone there a favour,” he replied, “And because I would not like to have the reputation of those I despise so much.”

“Aye to that,” Dwalin answered, “Speaking of which, what did Elrond have to say about the Shire?”

“I do not know, but perhaps it would be wise to find out.”

Dwalin sighed, “I heard from some Firebeards that this had happened before, and a lot of those poor Hobbits died during that time…cold, starvation. But they also told me that they had shown some great amount of bravery during their darkest hours, though I do not know whether to believe it myself. They seem to be too gentle and dainty to have that kind of courage.” Thorin did not respond to his comment, though he was affected by what he had learned. A flame of determination sparked within him; he could not let any of those Hobbits die, particularly Belladonna and her husband, they were innocent after all.

 

The snow surprisingly gave way to give everyone a clear view of the snow-ridden Shire. Snow piled on the hills in which the Hobbits made their home, some doors were blocked by the snow and there was no sign of plant or leaf to be seen. The snow also covered the homes so much that one could not recognize one from the other; they all appeared to be snowy mounds with round brass doorknobs that stuck out of the snow. The Shire is completely empty, as everyone was inside, which gave an eerie, silent emptiness and lack of spirit that was unheard of in such a happy place. Without being told to, Fili and Kili sprang to their boots and began to grab as many provisions as they could carry so they could start distributing. Of course, no one could receive anything until the doors of the homes were uncovered. Luckily, this had been expected; some blacksmiths and miners had given up old shovels that they no longer needed as their portion of charity. Thorin ordered his soldiers to take up the shovels and begin to clear the snow as far as they could. A Hobbit emerged from a home near the sleigh just as Thorin went to grab a shovel. The poor fellow shivered, despite wearing layers of coats and blankets, “Hello, sir. If you all are looking to pass through here, I regret to inform you that there is no clear path through here.”

Thorin grew a polite smile, “We are here to help, sir.”

The Hobbit perked up, his eyes widening, “Oh! You must be Gandalf the Grey!”

Thorin frowned at the name, it was odd and unfamiliar to him, “I beg your pardon?”

“He wrote to us, saying that he and a few others would come with food!”

Dwalin approached them, taking Thorin’s side, snapping quite harshly, “Do you not know who you speak to? This is King Thorin of the Blue Mountains, son of Thráin, son of Thrór!” Thorin glanced at him in scorn, as his cousin had frightened the poor Hobbit so much that he shrank back further, “Thank you, Dwalin,” he muttered, before stepping in front of his rude cousin and addressing the Hobbit politely as before, “No I am not who you were expecting, though I am sure he will arrive shortly. My people have offered you provisions; I am acquainted with one of your villagers, my nephews moreso.” The Hobbit’s fear washed away, “We are so grateful for your help, King Thorin! It is in good timing that you have come, Mr. Gandalf has not shown up for days and I am beginning to doubt _his_ timing!”

“Is he known for being late?” Thorin asked, as the soldiers began to dig up snow and toss it over the homes. Fili and Kili went to the homes that were able to reach and gave the inhabitants their portions of food, most of the Hobbits recognized the brothers.

“Yes! Even though he makes some excuse about arriving just at the time he ought to be!” The Hobbit complained, then changed the subject, “Who is the one you are acquainted with? A Took? A Baggins? A Sackville-Baggins? Goodenough?” He continued to spew out numerous and odd names until Thorin finally cut him off, “Belladonna is her name, though I do not remember her family name,” he said.

“Oh, you mean Belladonna Took! She lives at the top of the hill, at the Bag End manor!”

The two looked up to the hill, which was at the other side of the village and looked just as blocked by the snow as the other homes. Thorin took up a shovel and ordered his men to dig faster, “No one will rest until every home is cleared!”

 

As the homes were being freed by the Dwarves, another large wagon filled with provisions being pulled by a horse came in from the north-east part of the Shire. A few horsemen followed close behind them, but what gained Thorin’s attention was the old man driving the wagon. He was dressed in grey robes, a large pointy hat upon is head, and his beard was long and as grey as the snow all around; there was something odd, ominous about the old man that Thorin was not overly fond of. Then again, he did not trust any stranger at first sight. There was no doubt that this was the man the Hobbits were waiting on. Some of the other Dwarves, particularly Dwalin, began to grow concerned as well but Thorin told them to continue their work. He would not waste any time conversing with the stranger, whether he was important or not; but the old man halted his caravan and dismounted from his wagon before approaching him. Now Thorin saw that he wielded a great long staff and soon wondered if this old man was actually one of the world’s most powerful beings: a wizard.

“I did not expect Dwarves to come to the aid of Hobbits,” the old man started, his tone ringing with genuine surprise.

Offended, Thorin turned to him fully and stuck his shovel down into a pile of snow that stood tall next to him. He held back the urge to make a remark about his tardiness. He glanced up at the wizard, “And why would we not? They are our neighbours and decent folk, they deserve our aid,” he defended, “I sense that you are quite unfamiliar with my people, Mr. Gandalf.” The wizard did not hesitate to nod, “Indeed, I have not yet made dealings with your kin to know that there is some goodness in them. You, Master Dwarf, have proven me wrong,” he said with a smile. Thorin glanced over to the house of the Hobbit that he had spoken to earlier, “The Hobbits tell me you are late, Mr. Gandalf.”

“Ah, yes, I tried my best to avoid it, but I needed the help of the Rangers to accompany me.”

Thorin eyed the Men in large, dark green and grey hoods; to his knowledge, the Rangers were called upon to combat orcs and wolves in this region, “What for?” Gandalf turned north, just as the wind kicked up his beard, “There are wolves heading this way, they will arrive in less than a day to torment the Shire. I must admit, I am surprised that you have come at all, given these circumstances.”

“I came because I owe someone a favour. I was not aware of the wolves,” Thorin argued, “Nonetheless, I have with me my most able soldiers and warriors. We will help defend this place with you.”

Gandalf looked down at him, impressed immensely by what he had heard, “So, you are as great as they say, Thorin Oakenshield. I admire your initiative.” Thorin gave the wizard a sharp, defensive glance, “You know of me, yet I know nothing of you,” he muttered. “It is meant to be that way, is it not?” Gandalf asked, approaching some Hobbits who were struggling with carrying some provisions inside, “Have you also seen, Thorin, the incredible amount of courage these people have? Quite remarkable, I must say.” Thorin frowned and retrieved his shovel, “Aye, but your definition of courage differs from mine. They would not last in the Wild, for instance, they can barely handle themselves in these circumstances. That is why we are here.” Gandalf let out a great sigh, he was relieved that none of the Hobbits had heard Thorin’s comment, “Must I remind you of the helplessness of _your_ kin some time ago?” The shift in topic bothered Thorin so greatly that he refused to speak to the wizard any further.He began to help Dwalin dig out the common paths that went through Hobbiton that were now three feet high in snow. His cousin had overheard the heated discussion and paused his labour to check in.

“Who was that?” Dwalin asked.

“Gandalf the Grey,” Thorin grumbled.

“A wizard? What brings him here?”

“He has a heart for the Hobbits,” Thorin answered, shovelling snow aggressively.

“You do not like him?”

“I do not like anyone who thinks they know our kin better than we do, nor one who deals with elves.”

“How do you know that?”

“I vaguely remember my grandfather speaking of the White Council, held by elves and wizards, to discuss the growth of evil in the West.”

Dwalin continued to work, shaking his head. Thorin glanced at him, “When we are done, you must order the soldiers to bear their arms and stand guard with the Rangers.”

“Why?”

Thorin then glanced northward, “Gandalf said there are wolves coming down from the North, I told him we would join him and his company to defend the village.” Dwalin smirked, finally, another chance at bloodshed, “We’re with you, cousin.”

 

Fortunately, the day was not over when the Shire was cleared of most of the snow. The Hobbits were very grateful and many of them opened up their homes to both Dwarf, Man, and Wizard who had served them for shelter. Some stubborn Dwarves refused and kept watch at the borders of the Shire; some Men of similar nature joined them, but others happily accepted the hospitality. Thorin found Fili and Kili waiting for him outside of Belladonna’s home at the top of the hill.

“Mrs. Boggins has offered us tea and biscuits!” Kili said excitedly, but he was really just asking Thorin for permission to enter the home.

Fili whispered to him, “It’s Baggins! We’ve been through this!”

“I heard her say Boggins and I am sticking with it!”

Fili laughed and shook his head, “No she didn’t! You just cannot pronounce it properly!”

Thorin sighed and rolled his eyes, “Stop bickering,” he intervened, “We will not disrupt her privacy. We will go and keep watch with the others.” Both brothers groaned in defeat, but all three flinched to the door opening. Belladonna, slightly older in appearance then when Thorin had seen her last, stepped outside slightly with a great smile and an infant in her arms. When she saw Thorin, her face lit up even more with happiness.

“Thorin! I have not seen you in years! You’ve changed so much!”

Kili grinned and stepped in front of his uncle’s view, “He _is_ getting older, isn’t he?” His brother shoved him aside in his uncle’s defense. Thorin stepped forward, ignoring the child, to address her properly and no from afar, “We came to—”

“I know, I’ve been watching from the window,” she interrupted, bouncing the child in her arms because the cold was bothering him. Her youthful expression of alacrity diminished slightly to a mature one, “Your nephews tell me that you came because of me.” Thorin grew a smirk, “A favour for a favour,” he explained.

“But how? I do not think helping you search for your one nephew equals the lives of everyone here. You could have done something much less great and that would have sufficed.”

Thorin held his smirk and gave each of his nephews a fair and sincere look, “My nephews are all I have, they mean more to me than my own pride. Nothing can compare to their safety, in my mind. In this way, I feel as though I still have not fully repaid my debt.” Belladonna gaped, “Do not say such a thing! You have done quite enough!” She quickly glanced down at her child, then brought her eyes back up to Thorin, “Would you like to meet my son?” Thorin frowned submissively at the tiny infant and stepped back, “No, thank you…I must go and keep watch with my men,” he answered in a low voice, before hastily descending the hill towards Dwalin and some soldiers. Fili and Kili watched their uncle in puzzlement, then returned their attention to their Hobbit friend.

“He’s okay, he has a lot on his mind,” Fili assured Belladonna, who appeared somewhat offended by Thorin’s rejection.

Kili nodded in agreement, “Some of the Rangers are saying that there are wolves heading towards us,” he said.

Belladonna’s eyes widened with fright, “Wolves?!”

Fili turned to Kili, “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone,” he said quietly through bared teeth.

Kili crossed his arms, “I don’t see why we need to hide anything from anyone!”

Suddenly, a great, dark shadow loomed over the brothers. They both turned around to see a tall old Man standing with a staff in-hand and froze at the stranger. Before Fili was about to question him, Belladonna exclaimed, “Mr. Gandalf! How wonderful it is to see you again!” Fili and Kili took this opportunity to slip around the old man and hurry after their uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no evidence that suggests that Ered Luin helped the Shire at all. These chapters basically are meant to tease towards the Quest of Erebor.
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)
> 
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.
> 
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Like the earlier Long Winter (T.A. 2758 – 2759), the Fell Winter began in November. This time Sauron was not able to launch a full attack, as the War of the Dwarves and Orcs of a full century earlier had eliminated most of the Orcs in the north, and the Haradrim had been badly defeated in 2885.
> 
> The winter was also less harsh than the Long Winter, and snow and ice stopped in Eriador at the Greyflood River, and in Wilderland in the middle of Mirkwood. Nevertheless, there were severe problems, as food again ran short, and the Hobbits of the Shire were attacked by White Wolves which crossed the frozen Brandywine river. It was on this occasion that the Horn-call of Buckland had been sounded; it was not heard again until Black Riders invaded Buckland in 3018. Gandalf and the Rangers of the North had to provide food for the Hobbits to prevent them from dying of hunger.
> 
> In March when the winter ended great floods of meltwater rushed down Greyflood, and the city of Tharbad was ruined and its bridge broken. The people of Enedwaith also suffered greatly as their lands were flooded.
> 
> ( http://www.tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Fell_Winter_(Third_Age) )
> 
> Thorin’s age: 165  
> Fili’s age: 52  
> Kili’s age: 47


	27. The Fell Winter (Part 3)

Fili and Kili followed a distance behind Thorin, who decided to take watch further from the borders of the Shire in order to possibly see the wolves before they could reach the Hobbit village. The snow was untouched, except for Thorin’s trail, and went as high as the Dwarves’ waists, causing minimal mobility.

“How many arrows did you bring?” Fili asked his brother.

Kili grinned proudly, “No more than twenty,” he answered, “These are not wargs we’re dealing with, just wolves,” he added with a laugh. They then continued to joke about how easy it would be to stop the wolves in their tracks, Kili claimed that he could kill any creature at three hundred feet with only one arrow. Fili laughed loudly and shook his head, “That’s impossible!”

“I’ll show you! The first wolf we see, I’ll kill it!”

“We’ll see about that,” Fili said, glancing eastward. Kili saw this and changed the topic, “Did you ask him?” Fili sighed and turned to him, “I did, he said that we’re too young.” Kili frowned, “He’s seen how good we are! We’ve proven ourselves constantly! How can he let us go to Dunland and not the Misty Mountains?” Unlike Kili, Fili understood Thorin’s intentions better and was more capable of accepting them over his own immature ambitions, “He doesn’t want us to be in danger, especially in the same place where father died,” he defended, though he struggled with saying the words.

“What are you talking about? You want this more than I do!” Kili then stopped and stood in front of Fili, blocking the view of Thorin, who was nearby, “We should just go ourselves, it should only take a day!”

Fili frowned, “And disobey Uncle?” he whispered.

“This is about _us_ , not _him_!”

“Fili, Kili.”

The two turned to Thorin, who looked at them in disapproval, “I heard you two laughing. This is a serious matter and there are innocent lives at stake, not an opportunity to show off.” Both Fili and Kili glanced down submissively and altered their demeanour, “Yes, Uncle.” Thorin brought his attention northwards again, the snow continued to fall strongly, and he struggled to see anything in the distance, “We need to spread out,” he said. Kili moved to Thorin’s left, as he was going to stand between Fili and Thorin because of his greater range of attack. Fili still stayed with Thorin to speak to him briefly, “I heard some of the soldiers say that the old man with the rangers is a wizard, is this true?”

“Yes.”

As far as Dwarves knew, wizards had no concern for them. Wizards were more focused on protecting the world from the darker powers, which often involved elves and Men. “Do you think that he is here for a greater reason?” Fili asked. Thorin glanced over his shoulder, “Who knows what the wizard’s intentions are. As long as he stays out of our way, I am not concerned about him,” he grumbled, although Fili’s question did remind him of a discussion that had transpired during the early years of his rule in the year 2845.

_Balin once came into the throne room in unusual alarm, as if the world was coming to an end or some form of evil was just beyond the gates. Thorin quickly dismissed some traders who had traveled from Dunland to deal with him, but they had seen the look on Balin’s face and understood the urgency. Thorin could not help but grow an amused smirk, as he knew that Balin was often one for overreacting over the littlest things, “Good afternoon, Balin, what has you in a panic?”_

_Balin halted before the throne and pulled out a weathered parchment from inside his coat, “I have received rumours and claims from wanderers of Dunland that someone has entered Moria!” He handed the parchment to Thorin, who took it and read it._

_“…An old man? No intelligent folk would enter there with no arms, not while the beast still resides there and the remnants of the War are also hidden in those halls. Perhaps he is merely lost.”_

_“I suggest that we investigate, maybe even capture the man and question him.”_

_Thorin frowned, “I am not concerned about an old man mindlessly wandering our ruins, if he is killed there it is not my problem. I will not send anyone back to those lands without proper cause.”_

_And with that, the matter was settled._

A thought came to Thorin’s mind, but just as it did, he could hear faint howling and growling in the distance. Fili quickly left Thorin’s side to take his position, while Kili already had his brow drawn but was having difficulty on determining where to aim. No one could see any movement beyond the white screen, but they could hear them clearly. Thorin ordered Kili to only fire when he could see something, in effort to not waste arrows. Behind them, the remaining Dwarves and Men were getting into position in case some wolves were able to get by the three. Soon, the Wolves appeared; they were creatures of the North, where foul and vile things often originated. They were white and large, almost as large as wargs but no less horrific. Their white pelts almost blended in with the sky and the ground, leaving only their black eyes and blood-stained fangs to stand out. Kili tried his arrow four times into the distance, two arrows each struck a wolf, but did not kill them. Before he could make another attempt, the wolves were already close enough that Thorin and Fili could attack them with their swords. Thorin excelled at this; he could slay a wolf with a simple stab through the lung and kill a nearby wolf with a vigorous slash. Fili, using two smaller swords, had difficulty because he had never encountered any creatures as agile as these wolves and the height and density of the snow prevented him from attacking normally and effectively. One wolf pounced on him, but Kili was quick to kill it before it could harm his brother. Kili continued to use his arrows, which were more effective when the wolves were close to him, but when he ran out, he resorted to his sword. However, even though they made a firm effort to kill off several wolves, the pack itself comprised of thirty members and some of them were clever enough to avoid the three Dwarves and charge further towards the Shire, where they would be intercepted by the front of Dwarves and Men. Thorin, Fili, and Kili immediately joined their kin, who were already combatting the wolves. Man and Dwarf worked together to not let in a single wolf into the village, but the Dwarves enjoyed it most. Thorin joined Dwalin, who was beastly crushing and chopping any wolves that dared to try and cross him. Although the fight was for a serious cause (which Thorin had pointed out), some Dwarves enjoyed the thrill of the kill and often turned it into a friendly competition between friends. A popular competition was a killing competition, where friends would compare their kill counts.

“What is your count, Dwalin?” Thorin asked, after slashing a wolf’s neck.

“Three so far, the buggers aren’t coming over here.”

Thorin smirked, “I can imagine why.”

“Go on, boast about your count.”

“Five, and one mortally wounded.”

“You know that does not count until it dies. Which one is it?”

Thorin turned to the rest of the pack, he did not remember at first until he saw a wolf with a distinct wound on its neck slowing in speed as it went to join its pack. Thorin broke off from Dwalin to finish it off, but it was killed by a ranger before he could get to it. According to the rules, the kill did not go to him. Thorin was slightly irritated by the loss, but he was quick to brush off his irritation and focus on what was important. A larger wolf suddenly charged into the fight, some were calling it the Alpha. This wolf was faster and deadlier than its subordinates. So far, no Dwarf had been seriously injured, but this wolf concerned Thorin so greatly that he felt that he needed to take precautions.

“ _Ithmir!_ ”

The Dwarves heard the order and began to close in closer to the village, leaving the rangers alone with the wolves. The Men were openly frustrated by the removal of aide but continued to fight off the wolves and keep back the Alpha with the remaining strength they had. Dwalin stood next to Thorin, “What are you doing?!” Thorin glared at the Alpha, “That thing can easily kill any of us. I do not want any causalities, this was not even supposed to happen in the first place,” he muttered. The Dwarves watched as the Alpha effortlessly grabbed a Man by the torso and tossed it aside violently. Kili turned to him, “We have to do something! The rangers can barely hold it back!” Thorin turned around to Gandalf, who stood at one of the homes. Thorin left his fighters behind to approach the wizard.

“Call back the rangers,” he said.

“What for?”

Thorin looked up at him, “I can fight the Alpha on my own.”

“Do you think you can?” Gandalf asked him sternly.

Thorin frowned, “Do not underestimate me, Gandalf,” he answered bluntly, before returning to where he had stood. As he did, Gandalf called the rangers back to the Dwarves’ position. Fili had watched Thorin suspiciously since he had gone to speak to the wizard and when he returned, he finally asked, “What are you doing? Why are the rangers retreating?”

Thorin did not look at him, he simply stared down the large wolf, “That is not your concern,” he muttered.

Kili frowned, “What do you mean? It is our concern!” Fortunately, Dwalin has figured it out before the younger Dwarves did and turned Thorin around forcibly by his shoulder, “Are you mad?” He asked through bared teeth, “There is no point in risking your life, Thorin, you are far too important!” Thorin narrowed his eyes at him, “What do you suggest? That we let it live and terrorize these people? I am not risking anyone’s life but my own, it is better that way.” Fili and Kili came to his other side, plain with determination and confidence, “We’ll help you, Uncle!” Kili said, trying to stare down the wolf in the same intimidating manner as his Uncle.

“No,” Thorin sharply replied, “I will do this alone.”

Fili looked up at him, “We want to fight with you!”

“I said no,” Thorin growled again. Dwalin, loyal to Thorin’s demands whether they made sense to him or not, finally stepped in and herded the brother back, “Let him be! He has a plan, I’m sure he’ll be fine!” Both Fili and Kili were openly offended by their uncle’s refusal and even stomped out of the west end of the village, grumbling to each other. Thorin felt some relief knowing that his nephews would be out of harm’s way, but he was not content with how he had persuaded them to do so. But his mind was quickly focused on his opponent, who had finally figured out that he was being challenged by a lone Dwarf and raised his snow-white hackles high. All Dwarves and Men moves back to isolate Thorin further and give him as much space as needed. Without another second wasted, the two finally charged on the blood-stained snow. Without a shield, it would be hard for Thorin to deflect the bites of the wolf. So when he charged he held his sword high and diagonal to hopefully dodge an immediate bite. However, as the Alpha grew close, he leapt to pounce on him like a fox on a mouse. This could have been an easy kill, if Thorin had had his sword in the proper position. As the wolf was in the air, Thorin tried to quickly point his sword up so that the blade would run right through the wolf’s chest, but he was not fast enough and the only damage the blade made was a large cut on the wolf’s underbelly. He was, luckily, quick enough to dodge the lunging wolf before it could pounce on him completely. The two had now switched positions and were back to how they began. For a moment, Thorin caught Gandalf watching him with intent and intrigue, which made him uncomfortable. The wolf suddenly lunged forward to bite him, but Thorin slashed across his open snout. The Dwarves began to loudly cheer Thorin on; this fuelled him greatly. With a sudden burst of will-power, Thorin charged the wolf again; it made the error of lifting his front paws slightly to bite him again, aiming for his throat; though Thorin did have his sword lower this time, he did so strategically; when the wolf’s paws were off the ground and it’s chest and underbelly was once again exposed, Thorin ran his sword up the wolf’s underbelly. The wolf let out a loud yelp before Thorin used all his strength to throw the wolf down on it’s side in order to pull his sword out. The Alpha there laid to die, before the celebratory Dwarves came to finish him off together with their axes. The rule was that Thorin would receive the fur, but he decided to let his men fight over it as he was in no need for another fur cloak. Dwalin approached him, chuckling and shaking his head, “You got me worried for nothing! You made that look too easy!” Thorin smirked at him, “If I can defeat you, I can defeat anything,” he joked.

“You still owe me a proper rematch,” Dwalin grumbled.

Thorin looked around at what was left of the scene. The bodies of the wolves were sprawled out as far as he could see, and the snow was drenched with blood, it was nowhere near as horrible as the War but to the pure eyes of the Hobbits it would be a horrific sight. The year was almost at an end, but there was no end to this weather in sight and it seemed that the Hobbits would continue to need help until the season ceased. With the possibility of the snow rising any higher, it was unlikely that the Dwarves would leave Ered Luin again after this day. As the Dwarves continued to bicker over the fur, Thorin gave orders to Dwalin.

“Clean this up as best you can, give the bodies to the rangers, and ready the sleigh. We leave here by sunset.”

Dwalin nodded, then jerked his head to the village, “You should go tend to your pouting nephews before they get us in trouble.”

 

It was not hard tracking down Fili and Kili, their trail in the snow was still clear enough despite the falling snow. But Thorin encountered Gandalf again, now annoyed by his presence.

“That was quite heroic,” the wizard commented.

Thorin halted and glanced up at him, “I am not a hero, I was doing what was right.”

Gandalf frowned, “I meant that your actions were—“

“Did you enter the sacred halls of my ancestors?”

The wizard stopped speaking, indicating that Thorin’s suspicions were correct. He faced the wizard directly, “What business do you have with me and my people? I have every right to know.” The wizard’s expression grew dark and stern, so much that it affected Thorin slightly, “You will know when I have decided that you should know. And when that will be is up to the evils of the Earth. Yes, I was in Moria, I was looking for your father…I will speak of nothing further than that.”

Thorin looked at him, shocked by the apparent connection, “You knew my father?”

“He was a friend of mine, yes. He told me much about you, Thorin, that is how I know you.” Before Thorin could ask anything else, the wizard left him to tend to some frightened Hobbits who had peered outside and saw the mess. Unsatisfied, Thorin nonetheless continued on his way.

 

Thorin found Fili and Kili far from the village in the open snow. They were surrounding a pile of large snowballs that was as tall as he was. Thorin frowned in disapproval that they had spent their time acting like Dwarflings when they could have been observing him and learning from his actions, “What are you two doing?” He demanded. Fili and Kili peered out from each side of the snow pile, “Come look what he made, Uncle!” Fili said. Thorin came around to face the front of the snow pile, where he soon learned that the snow pile was in fact made in his image. The snow on top was shaped to resemble his face and his hair, with some extra added for the beard; there were small rocks for the eyes and braid beads; pieces of wood and branches for the grumpy eyebrows, belt, and arms; and a frown drawn in by hand.

“It’s you, Uncle!” Kili said with a smirk.

Although he was enraged by the resemblance, he could not help but be slightly impressed, “How did you make this?” Thorin asked.

“You always said that there’s nothing like looking if we want to find something!” Fili replied.

Thorin rolled his eyes, at least they were doing _something_ alongside his words of wisdom, “Are you done yet?” Fili and Kili turned to the snow-Thorin, “Well, we were thinking about putting a coat or a crown on top,” Fili answered again. Kili crossed his arms, “Or an oakenshield!” As the brothers pondered, Thorin made a snow ball and threw it straight at the snow pile, knocking the head off completely. Fili and Kili turned to him, their jaws gaping in shock. Thorin smirked proudly at himself but was soon hit in the face with two snowballs.

“That’s for Snow Thorin!”

“And that’s for not letting us fight with you!”

Thorin brushed snow off his beard, “Must I remind you of your place in this world?” He took two fistfuls of snow, which was compact enough that it formed into spheres, and threw them at their faces. As Fili and Kili brushed the snow off their faces, Thorin made numerous snowballs. Kili, who could easily clear the snow off his face, saw Thorin prepare his stock and shoved his brother away. Poor Fili had snow in his eyes along with the rest of his face.

“Run, Fili!”

“I can’t see!”

“Just run!”

As both of them ran, for what appeared to be for their lives, Thorin quickly pursued them and threw snowballs at them.

 

When Thorin and his nephews were done their game, the Dwarves were set to depart the village. Some Hobbits were overly happy that the Dwarves and Men had done them such a great and noble service and they offered friendly hugs and baked goods, but Thorin had bluntly made it clear to his men that there was no time for such things as the snow had suddenly picked up and if they did not leave soon that the snow would be too high and they would be trapped. Everyone wanted to get home to return to their families or livelihood that they ever so loved and cherished that they immediately agreed with their King and climbed onto the sleigh, giving a simple wave to the grateful Hobbits…it was the most they would get from them after all. Thorin and Gandalf did not meet again, Thorin had decided that it was in his best interest to stay clear of the wizard, despite the fact that he had concern for his father. He continually thought to himself of how the wizard had no right to stick his nose into the business of Dwarves and how his actions could get them in a lot of trouble; anything acquainted with elves was trouble and selfish in his eyes. Who knew what the wizard was up to, for all Thorin knew he was sniffing out information for the elves of Rivendell, whom Thorin had not yet had the opportunity of meeting ad had no desire of meeting. As the sleigh, now carrying Dwarves instead of goods, returned the western coast, Dwalin asked Thorin of his final encounter with the wizard and Thorin openly confessed to him the conversation and his opinions on the matter.

“I do not remember a wizard in the East,” Dwalin muttered, “But Dain once told me that he had met Gandalf and that he was a dandy, just as stuck-up as an elf! I do not believe that wizards are fond of lying, so if he says that he knew Thráin then it must be true.”

Thorin looked back at the Shire, which was quickly vanishing in the snow-screen, “Why would he not come to us for aid? I would like to find my father just as much as he does!”

Fili, who sat with Kili across from their uncle and his cousin, overheard the discussion and interjected, “He probably thought that you would not accept his help. Clearly he does not know you and so his judgement is poor.” Thorin looked at his eldest nephew, “Indeed,” he grumbled. Dwalin laid back against the side of the sleigh, “Well, it seems that he has stopped looking. So whatever he was looking for was not important enough to keep searching.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I made an error, which I have fixed in the previous chapter. The wolves are coming down from the North, not the South  
> There is no evidence that suggests that Ered Luin helped the Shire at all. These chapters basically are meant to tease towards the Quest of Erebor.
> 
> "When King Thráin II, a dwarf of the royal line of Lonely Mountain, disappeared on journey to Erebor, Gandalf looked for him. At some point after 2845 he entered the abandoned city of Khazad-dûm. After his vain search the Wizard exited through the Doors of Durin; however this experience did not help him know how to open the doors from the outside."
> 
> (http://www.tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Gandalf#Coming_to_Middle-earth)
> 
> TA 2890 - Bilbo Baggins is born. (22 September)  
> TA 2911 to 2912 – Fell Winter, Wolves invade the Shire. Tharbad is ruined in the following the floods.
> 
> (http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Third_Age)
> 
> Like the earlier Long Winter (T.A. 2758 – 2759), the Fell Winter began in November. This time Sauron was not able to launch a full attack, as the War of the Dwarves and Orcs of a full century earlier had eliminated most of the Orcs in the north, and the Haradrim had been badly defeated in 2885.
> 
> The winter was also less harsh than the Long Winter, and snow and ice stopped in Eriador at the Greyflood River, and in Wilderland in the middle of Mirkwood. Nevertheless, there were severe problems, as food again ran short, and the Hobbits of the Shire were attacked by White Wolves which crossed the frozen Brandywine river. It was on this occasion that the Horn-call of Buckland had been sounded; it was not heard again until Black Riders invaded Buckland in 3018. Gandalf and the Rangers of the North had to provide food for the Hobbits to prevent them from dying of hunger.
> 
> In March when the winter ended great floods of meltwater rushed down Greyflood, and the city of Tharbad was ruined and its bridge broken. The people of Enedwaith also suffered greatly as their lands were flooded.  
> ( http://www.tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Fell_Winter_(Third_Age) )
> 
> Ithmir = “get away”  
> Thorin’s age: 165  
> Fili’s age: 52  
> Kili’s age: 47


	28. Family or Fortune?

Over the years, there was much talk and controversy over Thorin after the Seven Kingdoms had met in Ered Luin decades ago and the Lord of the Ironfists had made their stance clear. No commonfolk were present during what had happened after, in Thorin’s throne room, but one could easily hear the Ironfist grumble and spit insults in the hours leading up to his punishment. Some of the Dwarves found what he had said very convincing; Thorin was unmarried, and had very few friends; kept to himself too often and too much; he was the King of the Longbeards yet was adamant on trimming his beard despite his title and birthright; was bound for madness at any time, thanks to his family’s history of it; and, more importantly, Thorin had an unusual indifference for wealth. The latter will be explained.

There was a squabble between two competing merchants who specified in toymaking and were vendors in Dunland, where many larger kingdoms of Men such as Rohan or Gondor would occasionally travel to and trade. One of the merchants accused the other of sabotaging his toys with hidden knives or nails to ruin his reputation and his business. They then retaliated by stealing the earnings box of the accused, who had not realized it was missing until he had returned to Ered Luin, and his opponent had already arrived there just a day earlier after an unsuccessful week of returns and angry folk. Unable to resolve the issue civilly, they both promptly went to Thorin. (Fili and Kili were stationed by him at the time but were ordered to be silent and behaved at all meetings.)

Thorin heard their stories clearly and, with exasperation, knew how to settle the matter. He looked to the accused first, “Did you do what he is claiming?”

The accused, who’s name was Refr, was silent but openly showing that he was guilty.

“Must I ask a second time?” Thorin demanded, his anger in his tone caused both Dwarves to flinch and grip their beards for self-comfort.

Refr let out a mix of a growl and a grumble before finally gurgling out his reply, “I did.”

“I knew it! I knew it was you, you bastard, you barmy fool!”

Refr glared at him, “Says the one who stole my money!”

“It was fair payback for the amount of money I lost that week because of you!”

Thorin snapped at them harshly in Khuzdul, ending the argument as immediately as it began. His attention was then turned to the accuser, who’s name was Vangr, “Was anyone hurt?” Vangr furrowed his brows in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You say that he put sharp things in your toys. I want to know how many people were harmed and if you helped them.”

“I don’t know! I was concerned about the bloody sabotage!” Vangr replied impatiently. Thorin frowned at his reply. Refr looked at him, “Please, Thorin, I need my money back! I-I cannot afford to take care of my family without it!” Thorin held his frown to him, “Refr, I know that you live very well off and that a week’s worth of salary is not going to starve your family.” His gaze was then placed on both of them again, “I think you both got what you deserved, and now both of your businesses will suffer because of it. If you (Refr) had not been so careless about the lives of other’s and eager to double your earnings, and you (Vangr) had not stolen his money to replenish your losses, we would not be here and my opinion of both of you would not be tarnished as it is right now.”

Vangr gaped in sheer shock, “How can you, of all people, say that?! Did you forget the hoard that your grandfather built with the value of wealth and pride on his mind at every deal he ever made? I guess that is why we have no hoards here!”

“ _I am not my grandfather!_ ” Thorin snapped defensively, even surprising his nephews, then gradually calmed himself before continuing, “We do not need hoards to be in peace. We do not need wealth to be prosperous.” Refr, curious by Thorin’s words, asked, “How?”

“When was the last time either of you spent a day with your families? With food and drink in front of you?”

Both of them were silent, glanced down and around. They were soon asked how they would have felt if they had given their child a toy that harmed them and the merchant who sold it had no sympathy for your troubles and merely cared about his pay. The same answer was displayed.

“We do not have hoards here because we simply do not need them. We have each other, our kin, our friends, and our songs and good times. Those are worth more than gold, more than mountains of gold; and thus I value those things—life—above all wealth.”

Thorin’s talk was very unusual and complicated, for most Dwarves did not believe in the things that he had spoken. To them, wealth was the key to happiness; the more of it you have, the happier you are. Thorin most likely would have believed the same thing as well, if a dragon had not come and sent his family into exile and doom upon the Dwarves of Erebor, thanks to his grandfather who had plunged into the darkest and deepest abyss of greed in which he could not resurface from in time. It took him a long time to develop this idea. What also oddly helped him formalize it the most was the brief encounters he had with Hobbits and those who were fond and understanding of them, as well as his own nephews and how strong a bond he had with them that they were the most important aspects of his life.

The two Dwarves were dismissed, still baffled on the lecture that Thorin had just given them. They were given nothing, they deserved nothing. After this, they would each chug down a mug of ale and groan and moan about their losses and blame Thorin for it in front of some peers. But after this, they would eventually realize that they needed time with their families without giving Thorin the credit. Thorin was never bothered by the dislike of him from his own people, there was simply no way to control that. Some of the Firebeards and Broadbeams accused Thorin and his House of stealing their lands that were given to them hundreds of years ago, but most greatly appreciated the company of the House of Durin. Even other races strongly disliked Thorin, of course the elves did because they knew well of his grandfather’s reputation, but Men in Bree also were skeptical of the Dwarf King.

 

One evening, Fili and Kili had come from escorting some merchants in Dunland and had stopped at Bree for a pint at the Prancing Pony Inn on the way home. It wasn’t a nice place, Thorin had warned them once that no Man who goes there should be trusted…but it did have bloody good ale. When the brothers entered the dimly lit tavern, it was full of Men and a few Hobbits of various characters. Sometimes the tavern was occupied with Dwarves as well, but most Dwarves preferred to drink amongst their own kin or sleep in a warm bed at this hour. Fili and Kili took a table near the bar, already noticing some glances and glares on them. A waitress, who is a Hobbit, cheerfully took their order and scurried off the fill some mugs. Fili and Kili both scanned the room, the chatter had quieted down when they entered. Fili then overheard the words of a Man at the bar.

“Those two look well off,” he said in a rough voice to the bartender, “Dressin’ up with *our* coin. Well, I hear that they bring nothin’ but trouble!”  
“What do you mean?” asked the bartender, who clearly knew what he spoke of but just wanted to have the Dwarf brothers hear it straight.  
“They are _Sons of Durin_ , descendants of greed and selfishness themselves! Their ancestor, Thrór, caused the death and destruction of thousands of Men, and all that filth cared about was his coin and gems.”

The room fell silent, and all the Men turned to listen to the one at the bar.

“That dragon never would’ve come upon them if Dwarves weren’t such greedy bastards! And guess what? King Thorin is Thrór’s grandson, he will bring destruction to us as well! They are all the same!”

Finally, Fili and Kili had enough. They got up from their table and approached the man who spoke. Kili grabbed the Man’s collar from behind and pulled him back off his stool so that he hung on it upside down, looking up at Kili. Fili took out one of his numerous knives and hovered it above the Man’s face, “And what do _you_ know of our Uncle? Have you ever met him?” Fili asked in a playful smile. The Man stayed silent, making the brothers look at each other and laugh quietly. “Perhaps you are too scared to meet him,” Kili added with a cheeky grin. The bartender leaned over the table, “I don’t want no fighting in here!” He snapped. Fili put his knife away and looked up at the bartender, “But, sir, as he said, we are _Sons of Durin_. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“It means that we do not flee from a fight.”

Kili released the Man’s collar so that he could sit himself back up. Fili stuck his hand inside is tunic, “Let’s go, brother, I don’t want to drink with cowards,” he said in a tone that was eerily similar to their uncle’s. Before they left, Fili took out two coins and smiled at the Man, “Here, I’ll pay for your drink,” he said with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m now at the point where I have covered everything I wanted to cover, and any subsequent chapters might reflect more of Thorin’s childhood or instances during the beginning or near the years before the Quest that might be amusing or insightful. These chapters will come sporadically so stay tuned, I haven’t given up ;) . I’ve been busy with university, which will end in late April, and I’ve also been roleplaying and writing other Thorin fanfics. I really enjoy writing this fic, it allows me to bring out more of Thorin’s more positive characteristics and his relationship with his nephews that I feel the films really lacked. I hope that I’ve catered to both movie and novel fans, such as myself, and everything was realistic enough. Personally, this fic helps me fill in the gaps for other fics that I do so that Thorin’s past isn’t so full of gaps and unanswered questions, all while sticking to what Tolkien has provided along with Peter Jackson.
> 
> I thought I would try and explain Thorin’s final words. I feel like this chapter sums everything up quite nicely.
> 
> Refr = Fox in Old Norse  
> Vangr = 'garden', 'green home-field'

**Author's Note:**

> Notes (Chapter 1):
> 
> Thorin’s age: 24  
> Frerin’s age: 19  
> Dís’s age: 10
> 
> According to Tolkien, Thorin was hunting at the time Smaug came and Thror and Thrain escaped through the secret door. In the trilogy, it is described that Thorin has a distinct and haunting memory of smoke and the trees burning bright in the night.
> 
> Uslukh = directly translates to "A dragon"
> 
> Man Dwarf  
> 5 10  
> 10 20  
> 15 30  
> 20 40 (maturity)  
> 25 61  
> 30 82  
> 35 103  
> 40 124  
> 45 145  
> 50 166  
> 55 187  
> 60 208  
> 65 229  
> 70 250 (average lifespan)  
> 75 271  
> 80 292  
> 85 313  
> 90 334  
> 95 355  
> 100 376  
> (Source: http://axebow.lcwsites.net/archive/0/comparativeages.html)


End file.
